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HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 



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JOEY STOOPED A LITTLE, AND PUT HER MOUTH TO THE CHINK 



HEAD OF 

THE LOWER SCHOOL 


BY 

DOROTHEA MOORE 


ILLUSTRATED 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

Cf )t Knickerbocker $restf 

1920 




























V. 





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TO 


WESTHILL, EASTBOURNE 

WITH MY LOVE 
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 




































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PREFACE 


T HERE is in England a large and inter- 
esting county, mostly green on maps. We 
call it Lincolnshire. 

There is a part of that same county where 
you see the gleaming silver of the Wash — so 
fatal to King J ohn of unpleasing memory — and 
the green marshlands are drained by wide dykes, 
and stakes stand bunched at intervals along the 
low-lying shore to break the fury of the sea, at 
the great high tides of spring and autumn; and 
the river that meanders through the “Deeps,” as 
these marsh flats are called, has no banks when 
the tide is full, but seems as though its waters 
brimmed, and only kept themselves from slop- 
ping over by an amazing steadiness of hand in 
which you are not wise to place implicit trust. 
That is “Little Holland.” 

Where the ground begins to rise a shade, so 
that the great mass of dim red buildings seems 
to tiptoe in the rolling sea of green, stands the 
famous Redlands College ; where everyone, from 
Miss Conyngham the Head — are you brave 
enough to ask her? — down to Tiddles the school 


PREFACE 


baby, will have something to tell about the thrill- 
ing story which acted itself round about Little 
Holland during Joey Graham’s first term in the 
Lower School. And, let me tell you, they are 
proud of that story at Redlands. Here it is! 
Gabrielle or Noreen would like to tell it, I 
know; but you’d better let me. 

DOROTHEA MOORE. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAQB 

I. Luckie Jean’s Odd-and-End Shop . 1 


II. 

Out into the World 


18 

III. 

The Duties of a Scholarship Kid 

29 

IV. 

Enter Gabrielle 


41 

V. 

Liveliness in Blue Dorm . 


. 58 

VI. 

A Night on the Leads 


. 66 

vn. 

The Violet Handkerchief 


. 76 

VIII. 

The Peace-Pipe . 


. 84 

IX. 

“Maddy” . . . 


. 92 

X. 

A Sunday Out . 


. 106 

XI. 

The Sea-Roke . 


. 122 

XII. 

In Trouble 


. 183 

XIII. 

“The Three Musketeers” 


. 140 

XIV. 

“The Play’s the Thing” 


. 154 


IX 


X 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

XV. The Court-Martial . . .167 

/ 

XVI. The Eve of the Match . . .181 

XVII. Tricked ...... 196 

XVIII. At Deeping Royal .... 210 

\ 

XIX. Against Time 222 

XX. The Professor’s Drive . . . 240 

XXI. In the Round Tower . . . 255 

XXII. The Great Election .... 275 


y. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Joey stooped a little, and put her mouth to the 

chink Frontispiece 

PACING PAGE 

“HOW DARE YOU COME?” . 42 

“Have you finished?” asked Gabrielle . . 88 

“I HOPE I didn’t FRIGHTEN YOU COMING IN LIKE 

this,” Joey said politely 130 

“ Mein fater, is the mixture slab and strong? ” . 160 

“I’m frightfully sorry we startled you so” 242 


xi 





HEAD OF 

THE LOWER SCHOOL 

CHAPTER I 
Luckie Jean's Odd-and-End Shop 


“There was a small kid called Jennie, 

A millionaire with a penny; 

But this her disgrace is 
She blued it on laces. 

And so all the rest hadn’t any!” 

“ r>UT Joe isn’t Jennie,” objected Bingo, 
JL> as Gavin chanted the last line of this 
lyric in a cheerful jigging sing-song, and a voice 
that would have done credit to a cathedral choir. 

“And Mums wanted me to get shoe-laces,” 
Joey added. “You see, these haven’t any tags, 
and the ends are all frayed out.” 

“What’s wrong with stiffening up the ends 
with Bingo’s play- wax?” demanded Gavin the 
resourceful. “I never thought that you’d come 
to spending the one penny going on silly shoe- 
laces, when we have to go to Luckie Jean’s 


2 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


odd-and-end shop, and might have bought bull’s- 
eyes, or at least pear-drops.” 

Joey cast a glance down at the very dilapi- 
dated laces securing her shabby shoes. Her in- 
difference to her own personal appearance was 
supreme, but Mums had seemed worried about 
those shoe-laces, and it was a point of honour 
in the Graham family to protect Mums from all 
possible worries. All the same she agreed with 
Gavin: it was a waste to be going all the way to 
Crumach and Luckie Jean’s odd-and-end shop 
without so much as a penny to spend among the 
five of them — Gavin, Ronnie, Kirsty, Bingo, 
and herself. She considered the question. 

‘‘But Joey isn’t Jennie!” objected Bingo once 
more with determination. Bingo never left a 
question till he got an answer ; even when Gavin 
smacked his head for bothering, which happened 
now and then. Father — the big, cheery father 
to whom the five had said their last good-bye 
one chilly morning close on two years ago at 
Crumach Station — had called Bingo “the little 
bull-pup,” because you couldn’t make him let 
go. 

Gavin knew that, and answered the objection. 
“Why, you little ass, Joey won’t rhyme with any- 
thing, that’s all, and Jocelyn’s even worse. And 
of course anyone can see who’s meant, because 


LUCKIE JEAN S SHOP 


3 


Joey’s the only one of us who has so much as a 
brass farthing to bless herself with.” 

“And she’s going to spend all her farthings on 
boot-laces,” observed Bingo sorrowfully, and the 
corners of his mouth went down. Bingo was 
only six; that was his excuse — and he was the 
only member of the Graham family who had 
been known to cry for years. They hadn’t got 
a tear out of Gavin when he fell off a hayrick 
and dislocated his shoulder, and it was put back 
by the local bone-setter — a process which is far 
from pleasant when unaccompanied by chloro- 
form. Joey hastened to avert the tragedy which 
might have disgraced the name of Graham if 
Bingo were left in suspense too long. 

“If you’re sure that play-wax will fix up my 
lace-ends so that Mums won’t worry, we’ll use 
the penny on anything you like,” she said. 

Her words produced quite a sensation. Ga- 
vin patted her violently on the back; Kirsty 
jumped three times into the air like a young 
chamois, with a great display of long, thin, 
scratched legs — no one in those parts ever saw 
anything like the way those Graham children 
grew! — and Bingo hugged her ecstatically be- 
fore burrowing in the pocket of his tiny knickers 
for a small and grubby piece of yellow play- 
wax. 

They all sat down on the high heathery mqor 


4 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


to mend the laces there and then. “Lots of 
time,” Gavin pronounced, consulting the gold 
hunting-watch which Father had said his eldest 
boy was to have if he never came back. “The 
postman never gets to Crumach till four, and 
it’s not three.” 

“But there may be soldiers come by the south 
train,” suggested Bingo. “We’ll want some 
time to see them.” 

“Heaps of time,” declared Gavin, pinching 
bits off the lump of play-wax. “Only three 
miles from here to Crumach, and we can see the 
soldiers after we’ve done Mums’ shopping and 
got the post, if we don’t before.” 

J oey looked up from her refractory laces, shak- 
ing her thick fair hair out of her eyes. 

“But the letter might have come by the post, 
Gav. If it has, Mums will want to know at 
once, won’t she?” 

“ ’Course. I’d forgotten that letter might 
have come,” Gavin answered more soberly. 
“There, leave that lace to dry hard, old girl, and 
you’ll have a topping tag. Did the minister ex- 
pect it so soon?” 

“He said he just thought it might come.” 

“Will it come if you’ve failed to get the 
scholarship?” Kirsty asked. 

Joey considered. “I don’t know, but I 
shouldn’t think they would write to everybody 


LUCKIE JEAN’S SHOP 


5 


to tell them that they’d failed. Mr. Craigie 
said there were seven hundred and eighty-two 
candidates. Just think of all the stamps!” 

The family did think, with a gasp. When 
they thought at all about money, it was as a 
thing which must be kept for boots and bread 
and margarine — never as a thing that you could 
squander recklessly on luxuries like stamps. 

“No, I shouldn’t think there would be a let- 
ter if you’ve failed,” Ronnie agreed sadly. He 
had a right to be serious, for he was, after Joey, 
the person most immediately concerned with the 
all-important letter, which it was remotely pos- 
sible that the postman might bring to Crumach 
to-day. 

The five had always known that Father 
thought boys and girls should share alike where 
education was concerned. Joey was to have 
her chance at a big public school as well as 
Gavin and Ronnie, and Kirsty was to follow 
when she was old enough, as surely as little 
Bingo. But before Gavin had been two years 
at the preparatory, from which he was out to 
win an Eton or Winchester scholarship, the news 
came to the pretty house in Hertfordshire — a 
house which always seemed to strangers so be- 
wilderingly full of children, dogs and cats — 
that Major Graham had fallen wounded into 
the hands of the Huns, during our last retreat 


6 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


in the anxious spring of 1918, and had suc- 
cumbed to the brutalities of a prison camp in 
the land of Kultur. His private means had 
been sunk in an Austrian oil-mine, and were 
gone beyond recall; he had insured his life, and 
Mums was left to bring up five healthy, hungry 
children on the insurance money and her pen- 
sion — somehow. 

Father owned a little square-built stone cot- 
tage in a tiny Highland village, four miles north 
of Crumach. Living was comparatively cheap 
at Calgarloch, and they had spent the last glo- 
rious leave there all together. Mums and the 
family moved north, and in the rent-free cot- 
tage held a council of war to review their re- 
sources. Joey could see that picture now; 
Mums, very slight and fragile-looking in her 
widow’s weeds, and the family sprawling about 
her, all long of leg and outgrown as to clothes, 
but fiercely in readiness to fight any notion on 
Mums’ part that she might have managed for 
them better. 

It was then Mums had explained that how- 
ever economically the family lived in Calgar- 
loch it was only possible that one child could 
be kept at school at a time. If — Mums stopped 
herself and substituted “when” — Gavin won his 
scholarship, Joey could go to school. Ronnie 
would have to wait until she left; Ronnie was 


LUCKIE JEAN’S SHOP 


7 


nearly three years younger, so waiting would be 
possible. Until Gavin fought his way out into 
a public school the rest of the family must be 
content with the village school. 

“I’ll get that scholarship, Mums,” Gavin had 
promised, growing hot and red ; and he had kept 
his word. The name of Gavin Graham had 
headed the list of Winchester scholars at the end 
of last term; and Joey’s chance had come. 

By that time the four younger Grahams had 
grown used to going daily to the little village 
school, where the pupils at most numbered fif- 
teen, and the master taught “the Latin” with a 
strong Doric accent and an absolute enthusi- 
astic love of all learning, which could not help 
communicating itself to the boys and girls in his 
care. He taught the secular subjects untiringly, 
and the minister, Mr. Craigie, poured the 
“Shorter Catechism,” and much else, into the 
children twice a week so sternly, that it was at 
first quite a surprise to the Grahams to find him 
the best of comrades and friends out of school. 

It was during a thrilling expedition to the 
loch for fishing — Shorter Catechism not so much 
as mentioned — that Joey confided in him to the 
extent of asking if thirteen and tall for one’s 
age might stand a chance as a pupil teacher at 
“a proper girls’ school.” “For if I didn’t cost 
anything, Ronnie could go, and he’s over ten 


8 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


now, and would be fearfully old by the time I’m 
seventeen,” she explained. “I suppose I could 
teach the small kids like Kirsty, and I could al- 
ways punch their heads if they ragged in class.” 

Joey never could think why Mr. Craigie 
should laugh so helplessly at this suggestion; 
but he was very kind all the same, and said that 
he would see what he could do. What he did 
was to talk things over with the schoolmaster, 
and then to write a letter to : 

Miss Jean Craigie, 

Redlands College, 

Lincolnshire. 

A few days later he called on Mrs. Graham, 
accompanied by the schoolmaster, and with the 
answer to that letter in his pocket. 

Redlands offered a scholarship once in every 
four years to be competed for by girls under 
fourteen; the scholarship provided four years 
free at the great fen-country girls’ school, and 
forty pounds annually for books and clothes! 
He wanted to enter Joey for the scholarship, 
though the entrance examination loomed only 
six weeks ahead. 

“She seldom remembers the Shorter Cate- 
chism, but the child has a brain/’ he said; “and 
what is more important, she has grit. I don’t 
say that she can win the Redlands Scholarship, 


LUCKIE JEAN S SHOP 


9 


of which my sister, the mathematical mistress 
there, writes full particulars, but I do say that 
she might, although the competition will be enor- 
mous. Let her try.” 

And Mums had thankfully said, “Yes.” 

Joey worked early and late during those six 
weeks, in spite of holiday-time for the rest of her 
world. She lived between the manse and the 
schoolmaster’s, and the two clever men coached 
her untiringly. And then the sealed papers 
came down (by special permission) to Mr. 
Craigie; and for three days Joey, hot, inky, and 
anxious, was shut up in the minister’s study, an- 
swering the terrible questions the examiners had 
set. And then Mr. Craigie packed her sheets 
of foolscap off to Redlands, and there was noth- 
ing left to do but to wait. She had been waiting 
now for ten long days. 

The postman did not come to Calgarloch, 
People fetched their letters, when they expected 
any, from the little post office at Crumach; but 
the Grahams thought that no hardship; a walk 
over the corner of the moor, and across the lower 
shoulder of the hills that lay between Calgar- 
loch and Crumach, was always fun, especially if 
there were anything to spend in the town. But 
to-day the comparative merits of bull’s-eyes and 
pear-drops seemed unimportant; they were all 
thinking of the letter. 


10 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Ronnie dropped behind with Joey when the 
shoe-laces were finished with, and the party 
ready to go on. 

“If you get it, I could go to Christopher’s this 
term,” he said. “You know Christopher told 
Mums there was the one vacancy, and he’d keep 
it on the chance, because of Gav having done so 
well.” 

“Yes, and if you got a Winchester School 
like Gav has, in three and a half years, Kirsty 
would only be twelve just — heaps of time for 
coming on to Redlands,” Joey remarked hope- 
fully, and then, as a wave of doubt swept over 
her: 

“But I’ll never get it — out of seven hundred 
and eighty-two girls. I went some awful howl- 
ers, I know. 

“P’r’aps the others did too,” suggested Ron- 
nie. 

“I’m afraid Mums will mind if I fail,” Joey 
said. “Of course she’ll pretend she doesn’t, and 
say all she cares about is my trying — but she 
won’t take us in with her dearness.” 

“ ’Couse not; but you’ll have to let her think 
she does,” Ronnie announced, from the depths 
of past experience, and then he and Joey were 
silent while they plodded round the shoulder of 
the hill, and dropped down into Crumach. 
Ahead Gavin could be heard gaily discoursing 


LUCKIE JEAN’S SHOP 


11 


to Kirsty and Bingo on the Homeric exploits 
of Winchester “men”; but then it was different 
for Gavin. He had won his scholarship. 

Either the shoe-laces had taken longer than 
the children had expected, or the gold hunting- 
watch had not been entirely reliable, for it was 
fully four o’clock when they turned at last into 
the main street of Crumach. Gavin stopped 
and waited for the other two. 

“The post’ll be in. We’d better go to Luckie 
J ean’s first, and get Mums’ things after.” 

As a matter of fact one got a good many of 
the “things” at Luckie Jean’s, though Mums 
had a certain odd favouritism for the newly 
established grocer at Pettalva, who sent a cart 
in twice a week to Crumach and had biscuits 
that were really fresh. But the family plumped 
to a man for Luckie Jean. True, the fingers 
with which she ladled out your provisions were 
snuff-stained and not over-well acquainted with 
soap and water; but the recesses of her shop 
were so dark and mysterious, her goods so va- 
rious and unexpected, and, best of all, her 
stories were so thrilling that no ordinary shop- 
man who drove a cart could dream of com- 
paring with her. The family trooped joyfully 
in a body to Luckie Jean’s forthwith. 

She had the post office, not so much on ac- 
count of her competence, as because hers was, 


12 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


at the time the postal authorities had decided to 
open a branch at Crumach, the one and only 
shop there. Later, when a polite gentleman 
from Pettalva, rendered desperate by complaints 
from the English people who came up for the 
shooting, suggested politely to Luckie Jean the 
advisability of putting the charge into the hands 
of a younger woman, he thought himself for- 
tunate to escape with his eyes still intact in his 
head. Luckie Jean, half blind and wholly ig- 
norant as to all but local names and places, kept 
the post office ; and English visitors went on add- 
ing to the national revenue by writing unavail- 
ing letters of bitter complaint. 

It was this redoubtable old woman who looked 
up fiercely over her horn-rimmed spectacles as 
the young Grahams trooped in a body into the 
odd-and-end shop. 

She was bending over the post-bag as it lay 
on the counter, sorting the letters and papers 
into little heaps, and keeping up a vigorous un- 
dercurrent of grumbling all the time. 

“Na! na! You can’t come worrying for 
sweeties now. Be off, there’s douce bairnies. 
I’m busy.” 

“No hurry,” said Gavin politely. “We’ll 
wait.” 

And he began to wander round the shop, hands 
in pockets, attended by his constant addrers, 


LUCKIE JEAN’S SHOP 


13 


Kirsty and Bingo. Joey stood staring at the 
post-bag and the piles of letters, and Ronnie 
stood near her, breathing hard. It was no use 
to interrupt Luckie Jean when she was busy 
with the post-bag; it would probably mean ig- 
nominous expulsion with boxed ears, for Luckie 
J ean in a temper was no respecter of persons. 

“Hillo! The ‘Englishy’ cake full of currants 
is gone from the window. You’ve had it there 
these three months — ’member how I brushed the 
dead flies off last time we came, and cleaned it 
up?” Gavin remarked with interest. 

Luckie Jean happened to have just come to 
the end of a pile, so did not fall upon him for 
interrupting. * 

“Ou ay. I selled yon to the Englishy gentle- 
man, with the niminy-piminy voice on him, that’s 
at the Widow Macintyre’s up the street for the 
painting,” she answered, with a chuckle. “Fine 
she’ll recognise it, will the widow; she having 
tried to pit me off with ane of the bonnets she 
wore afore the deleterious trembles took her 
man, for payment when yon cake was fair new. 
But her lodger he paid a good Englishy price 
for it, and I don’t take nowt back.” 

“He’ll have to be hungry before he gets 
through it,” Gavin opined ; but Luckie J ean had 
gone back to her letters and took no notice. 


14 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“Evelyn Bonham, Esquire” she grumbled; 
“what for should it be the Englishy way for to 
gi’ a manfolk the name of a wumman? And 
staying at ‘The Neste’ near Crumach. I’ve 
heard tel of Nests. Yon must wait till I’ve 
cried on the tinker-body, as should be round in 
the tail of the week; that body kens a’body’s 
business.” 

“I think ‘The Neste’ is that jolly little new 
house under the hill; we could leave it as we go 
back, Luckie, if you liked,” ventured Joey. 

Luckie Jean looked up at her consideringly. 

“You keeps your eyes in your head, bairn. 
Maybe I’ll trust you wi’ it, but a postwoman 
must be gey particular, ye ken.” 

“I know,” Joey agreed, in all good faith, 
though it was hard to attend to ordinary re- 
marks like that when one was just trembling 
with eagerness to know what letters were for the 
house of Graham. 

“You’ll mebbe like to take a bit of a look at 
they scrawly anes as I’ve pit in the pile ower 
yonder?” inquired Luckie Jean, unbending still 
more. “There’re what they ca’s ‘re-directed,’ 
but there’s not mony writes plain for all their 
fine schuling, bairn. They anes ’ull likely need 
to wait till my niece comes from Pettalva, as 
have the gey expensive spectacles. . . . Na, lad- 


LUCKIE JEAN S SHOP 


15 


die, ye’ll not be distairbing the postmistress at 
her duties. Bacon — you canna be needing more 
— you had the half-pound Monday.” 

The customer, a small bare-footed boy, clasp- 
ing a coin tightly in his hand, looked apprehen- 
sively at the postmistress. “But ma mith- 
er . . .” 

“Be off, and tell your mither you’ve ate your 
half-pound far too quick,” thundered the auto- 
crat; but Gavin came to the rescue, stifling a 
laugh. 

“I say, mother, can’t I weigh it out for the 
youngster? You showed me how, ages ago.” 

“Ou ay, ye’ll still be meddling,” growled 
Luckie Jean over her post-bag, but she did not 
say no, and Gavin served her customer, and put 
the money into the till in a very professional 
manner. 

Joey in the meanwhile got to the pile of 
redirected letters, and soon succeeded in sort- 
ing them, the writing in most cases hardly 
justifying the severe criticism of the Crumach 
postmistress. Then, at last, she ventured the 
question she had been burning to put all the 
time : 

“Have you come on any for us yet?” 

Luckie Jean, busied in making a final scoop 
all round the bag with her long, thin arm, 


16 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 

jerked her head in the direction of a little pile 
at the end of the counter. 

“There you be — twa or three letters, and a 
newspaper for your maw. That’s aal.” 

Five Grahams hurled themselves simultane- 
ously on the little pile, while Luckie Jean tied 
the rest up in lots according to their destination. 
Gavin was there first ; he looked and flung them 
down, one after another in deep disappointment. 

“The blue one — that’ll be from Cousin Greta 
— see the crest! The white one with the small, 
screwgy writing — that’s from Uncle Stafford. 
That's a bill, and this is a newspaper; nothing 
from Redlands, Joey!” 

Joey bit back a little gulp of disappointment. 

“I didn’t really think there would be,” she 
said. “Can we leave any more letters for you 
on our way, Luckie Jean?” 

“Ye’ll mind not to get playing and forgetting 
of them?” asked the careful postmistress, and 
as she spoke she put a tied-together packet into 
Joey’s hand. The string was insecurely fas- 
tened, and the eight or nine letters came to the 
floor in a heap — all except one, the bottom one, 
which stayed in Joey’s hand. Luckie Jean’s 
heading had been at fault again, for this letter 
— mixed up with Sir Henry Martyn’s, and Miss 
Martyn’s, and Captain Kingston’s — was direct- 
ed quite distinctly to: 


LUCKIE JEAN S SHOP 


17 


Miss Jocelyn Graham, 

Pilot Cottage, 

Calgarloch, 

Near Crumach, N.B. 

Something seemed to catch at Joey’s throat, 
so that for a moment speaking was quite dif- 
ficult. She always remembered afterwards the 
way things looked as she saw them then: the 
dusty, low-roofed shop, with its dim recesses, 
where brooms and brushes and oil-casks lurked; 
the choked windows with articles of food dis- 
played; the open box of coarse cottons and cro- 
chet wools; the flitches of bacon; the gay tins 
of salmon; Gavin behind the counter; Luckie 
Jean closing the post-bag. Then Joey swallowed 
hard and opened the letter. This is what she 
read: 

“The Trustees of the Redlands Scholarship 
Fund have much pleasure in informing Miss 
Jocelyn Graham that she obtained the largest 
number of marks in the recent examination, and 
the Redlands Scholarship has accordingly been 
awarded to her. 

“She is therefore entitled to four years’ free 
residence and tuition at Redlands College, and 
an annual grant of forty pounds for necessary 
expenses.” 

“I’ve . . . I’ve got it!” Joey said. 


CHAPTER II 


Out into the World 

E VERYTHING about Joey was new — 
from top to toe, from hat to boots — par- 
ticularly boots. That knowledge was about the 
newest thing of all. 

She sat in her corner of the third-class com- 
partment, looking alternately from the window 
at the flying scenery of Scotland and then 
down at those boots — strong, unpatched, with 
superior unknotted laces, all quite new. 

She was wearing the long, dark green uni- 
form coat of Redlands and the soft, green close- 
fitting hat, with a band of the same colour 
round the erown and the school arms stamped 
in silver. Underneath she wore the dark green 
serge “djibbah” with white flannel blouse and 
green tie. 

These things had come for her from Redlands 
a week ago, with the bill, which Mums had 
paid out of that amazing cheque for forty 
pounds — a cheque which Joey had been proud 
to endorse under the envious eyes of her broth- 
ers and sister. 


18 


OUT INTO THE WORLD 


19 


The cheque carried with it an amazing sense 
of wealth, so it had been a blow when Mums 
firmly refused to allow one penny of it to be 
spent on anything but boots and clothes for 
Joey herself. However, Mr. Craigie (after 
some careful calculations of which the family 
knew nothing) produced ten shillings as a part- 
ing tip on the day the family were going en 
masse to Pettalva to choose Joey’s boots. 

That was a great day for Joey Graham, aged 
thirteen years and three months, for Mr. 
Craigie’s gift was hampered by no restrictions. 
She proudly stood lunch to all the rest, and 
tipped the waiter — a seedy gentleman with a 
good deal of limp and dingy shirt-front, who was 
nevertheless an adept at putting cruets, Wor- 
cester sauce bottles, etc., over the stains on the 
tablecloth of the little back-street restaurant 
where they partook largely of sausages and 
mashed potatoes, limp pastry and ginger-wine, 
with Joey hospitably urging them on to further 
efforts. Even Gavin the Winchester “man” was 
no greater in the eyes of his family that day! 

There had been very little time for incon- 
venient thoughts of possible home-sickness to 
obtrude themselves during those bustling days 
of preparation. Of course it would be strange 
to have two days’ journey between herself and 
Mums and the rest, Joey knew; but people who 


20 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


have won a scholarship don’t go in for bein' 
home-sick. Besides, there would be Miss 
Craigie, Mr. Craigie’s sister — mathematical 
mistress at Redlands and a ready-made friend, 
Joey was comfortably sure. 

So she made her own final preparations very 
cheerfully, and helped Mums — rather stickily — 
with the getting ready of Ronnie’s shirts and 
stockings for his plunge a week later into 
Gavin’s old preparatory; and said good-bye and 
thank you to the schoolmaster and to Effie and 
Ailie, the sawmiller’s twin girls, who sat next 
her in class; and to Luckie Jean, who unbent to 
an extraordinary degree and presented a whole 
bag of “sweeties” at parting; and was finally 
seen off at Crumach by the entire family, with 
an old military portmanteau that had been Fath- 
er’s, and a bewildering quantity of new clothes 
in it. 

Mums went with her to the junction at Pet- 
talva; from there she was to travel in the care 
of the guard to Edinburgh, where Miss Craigie 
would meet her and take her down to Redlands 
next day. 

Mums and Joey both found a tendency to 
leave little gaps in the conversation, as the roofs 
of Pettalva began to come in sight. 

“I shall try to find someone who is going the 
whole way to Edinburgh, darling,” Mums said. 


OUT INTO THE WORLD 


21 


after one of those gaps. “Then I shall feel quite 
happy about you.” 

“I’ll be all right anyway,” Joey said deter- 
minedly. 

“Yes, my Joey, I know you will; but every- 
thing, including the travelling, will be a little 
— new.” 

“I know Mums. Don’t you worry; I 
shan’t,” Joey persisted, though the roofs of Pet- 
talva were rather blurred just then. “I know 
it will be new, but I’m going to like Redlands 
awfully, and write you reams of letters, so you 
won’t be dull — and — and” — Joey swallowed a 
lump in her throat — “there won’t be such a heap 
of stockings for you to mend, anyhow.” 

They two were alone in the compartment; 
Mums caught Joey in her arms and held on to 
her tight. “Oh, my Joey, I like mending the 
stockings!” she cried, with a little sob in her 
voice, and then she tried to laugh. 

“But I am going to love your letters, darling, 
and live in the interesting new world with you. 
Shan’t we watch for the post, Kirsty and Bingo 
and I, and always be making excuses to go to 
the odd-and-end shop?” 

Mums put away her handkerchief, and went 
on more in her ordinary voice: 

“None of us have ever seen the fen country; 
you’ll have to tell us all about it. And Cousin 


22 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Greta said something about asking you out on a 
Sunday, now and then, and she has all kinds of 
beautiful things at her house that you will en- 
joy seeing.” 

- Joey looked doubtful. Cousin Greta’s infre- 
quent calls at the old home had generally ended 
in disgrace for at least one member of the family. 
For Cousin Greta made no secret of the fact 
that she considered all the children a hopeless 
set of little raggamuffins, and somebody was cer- 
tain to live down to her ideas. Lady Greta Sturt 
was Father’s cousin and always spoke of the 
children as his only, though she put their faults 
down to poor Mums. She brought them the 
best chocolates when she came — such chocolates 
as were a rare and unaccustomed luxury even 
before the War — but the Grahams were not to 
be bought by chocolates, though it must be owned 
that they ate them with great speed and enjoy- 
ment. Joey wasn’t sure that to be asked out by 
Cousin Greta would add to the joy of Redlands. 

“You will be nice to her if she should ask 
you,” Mums went on, in her soft, pleading voice, 
“She was very fond of Father and did a great 
many kind things for him when he was little, he 
always said.” 

“She’s probably gone off, like Luckie Jean’s 
Englishy cakes do,” J oey said solemnly ; but ad- 
ded, for Mums’ comfort: 


OUT INTO THE WORLD 


28 


‘‘Don’t worry, Mums. I’ll be as nice as I 
know how, and most likely she won’t want me 
again after she’s seen me once.” 

Mums smiled, and then the train stopped at 
Pettalva Junction, and the bustle of changing 
began. 

Mums found a lady going all the way to Edin- 
burgh — a cheerful, capable-looking personage 
who breezily undertook to see Joey safely into 
the hands of Miss Craigie at the Waver ley Sta- 
tion. Then Mums bought Joey buns and two 
apples and a magazine, and reminded her of the 
packet of sandwiches in her pocket and kissed 
her silently; and Joey said, “Don’t mind, Mums; 
I’m going to like it.” 

And then the train slid out of the station and 
Joey was off to the new world, and Mums was 
left behind. 

That was the beginning of the long day’s 
travelling down through Scotland, and now she 
was almost at Edinburgh, and the end. In a 
few minutes Miss Craigie would meet her — Miss 
Craigie, whom Joey saw as a replica of her 
brother, only in a coat and skirt — and she would 
be hearing all about Redlands, and learning 
what a new girl ought to know. Joey remem- 
bered from school stories that new girls need 
a lot of watching if they are not to begin their 
school career with unforgivable blunders, She 


24 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


was very thankful that she was going to travel 
with Miss Craigie. 

She was also rather thankful that this day’s 
journey was nearly over. She seemed to have 
sat still for such a long, long time. Mrs. 
Tresham had broken it a little for herself by 
going to the restaurant-car for lunch ; but though 
she had pressed Joey most kindly to come with 
her as her guest, explaining that she hated meals 
alone, Joey stuck to it firmly that she preferred 
sandwiches, having her own private supply of 
family pride. She ate her sandwiches — potted 
shrimp and margarine — and the buns and the 
apples in solitude; they didn’t take long — noth- 
ing like as long as Mrs. Tresham’s lunch did. 

The afternoon was very long, but tea-time 
came at last, and she had been told to have tea 
in the restaurant-car. She and Mrs. Tresham 
had it together, at a little table, fixed firmly to 
the floor; and there was hot, buttered toast and 
a sort of mongrel jam, and you had to pour the 
tea carefully because of the lurches of the train. 
Joey enjoyed that meal, and it was five o’clock 
by the time it was finished, and she and Mrs. 
Tresham had reeled back along the swaying cor- 
ridor to their own compartment; and at six they 
were due at Edinburgh. 

Joey tidied herself up and washed her hands 
even before the Forth Bridge was reached; she 


OUT INTO THE WORLD 


25 


was so anxious to be ready in good time. And 
that wonderful engineering feat was crossed — 
with a certain thrilling and delightful sense of 
insecurity about the crossing — and Corstorphine 
Hill was passed, and the train was slipping into 
the Waverley Station. Edinburgh at last! 

Joey was in the corridor in a second, looking 
for Miss Craigie. Of course it was not wonder- 
ful that she did not see her at once; the station 
was so big and the people so many. But even 
when she had got out, accompanied by the small 
suit-case containing her night-things, and by her 
new umbrella, and had stood quite a long time 
waiting and tiptoeing by the door of the com- 
partment while Mrs. Tresham claimed the lug- 
gage for them both, still there was no sign of 
anyone who looked like Mr. Craigie’s sister. 

A stout, elderly woman stood at a little dis- 
tance among the fast-thinning crowd surveying 
her unblinkingly, but Joey was sure that could 
not be Miss * Craigie. Just as Mrs. Tresham 
came back with the luggage and a porter, this 
personage moved forward and spoke to Joey 
with distinct caution. “I’m thinking you might 
be perhaps Miss Jocelyn Graham?” 

“Yes, I am,” Joe confessed, staring. 

The stout woman became less cautious, and 
more communicative. 

“As am own husband’s cousin to Maggie 


26 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


M‘Tulloch, and when she telled me of Miss 
Craigie being down, puir body, wi’ the influenzy, 
and the young leddy not to gang near the hoose 
for fear o’ carrying the infection to her braw new 
schule ...” 

‘‘Oh, is Miss Craigie ill? I am sorry,” Joey 
cried out. 

“The temperature being one hundred and 
four, forbye some points up which I canna mind 
exactly, I’m douting she’s for the pewmonia, 
and twa in the next hoose abune lying deed of 
the same,” the stout woman mentioned, with a 
certain gloomy satisfaction that puzzled Joey. 
“And says I to Maggie M‘Tulloch, Til take the 
young leddy,’ says I, ‘and what o’wer chances 
she'll not tak’ the infection awa’ wi’ her.’ ” 

“Thank you; that’s awfully kind,” Joey said 
politely, though mournfully. She explained to 
Mrs. Tresham, who looked somewhat mystified 
by the flood of broad Scotch. 

“You poor child, I should like to take you 
with me to my hotel for to-night, but I sup- 
pose I hardly could, as I am staying with a friend 
there. But I don’t like this for you. Have you 
authority from Miss Craigie?” she asked sud- 
denly, turning to Maggie M’Tulloch’s “own 
cousin” as though she rather hoped for a nega- 
tive answer. 

But there was no escape. Maggie M’Tul- 


OUT INTO THE WORLD 


27 


loch’s kinswoman dived promptly into a black 
knitted bag that she carried and produced a sheet 
of paper, scrawled in uencil: 

“I am so sorry, but I may not see you, Joey. 
Mrs. Nicol will take care of you, and put you 
into your train to-morrow. Good luck. 

“Jean Craigie.” 

There was no help for it. Joey shook hands 
with kind Mrs. Tresham and thanked her, and 
walked off beside Mrs. Nicol in the wake of a 
huge outside porter, who wheeled her trunk on 
a barrow. They came up into the width and 
glare of Princes Street, crossed it, turned up a 
narrower street running at right angles to it, 
went half-way down, still following the porter, 
and turned into another narrower still, where 
narrow “wynds” or thread-like passages showed 
between the immensely tall old houses. In this 
street Mrs. Nicol stopped at last, produced a 
latch-key, and opened the door into a hall made 
dimly visible by a glimmer only of gas. 

“Ye’ll be pleased to mount, miss,” she said 
unsmilingly. 

Joey mounted four flights of stairs, all cov- 
ered with slippery linoleum, till she landed at 
last in a room which looked as though no one 
could ever have laughed in it from the time the 


28 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


house was built. Four wooden waiting-room 
chairs stood against the mustard-coloured walls; 
a square table covered with a mottled brown 
cloth stood exactly in the centre. A cheap, 
crudely coloured print of “The last sleep of 
Argyle” above the chimney-piece was the sole 
attempt at ornament, unless one counted the dim 
cruets which occupied, for the want of a side- 
board, the centre of the dingy and once white- 
painted mantelpiece. The room was at once cold 
and stuffy. 

“Ye’ll be taking your supper here, miss, and 
then ye shall gang to your bed,” Mrs. Nicol in- 
formed her, and Joey, seeing nothing whatever 
to stay up for, agreed meekly. It was not the 
evening she had pictured to herself, but she must 
make the best of it. She wrote a pencil post 
card to Mums, while Mrs. Nicol laid the table 
and set before her a rather gristly chop, in which 
she mentioned that the journey had been “all 
right” and she herself was “all right” too. It 
seemed better not to mention Miss Craigie’s ill- 
ness, and this rather desolate reception, when she 
happened to be one of those five children who 
had promised father to “take care of Mums.” 


CHAPTER III 


The Duties of a Scholarship Kid 

S HE’LL be there, I suppose?” 

“Why should she, you mugwump? A 
scholarship kid won’t have an entrance exam 
like an ordinary new girl.” 

“I wish to goodness the Redlands trustees had 
never thought of the old scholarship idea,” 
grumbled a third voice. “Mary Hertford was 
rather the limit, wasn’t she? at least when she 
was in the Lower School — setting the pace so 
frightfully fast, specially in maths, but at least 
Mary was our own sort. I don’t call it playing 
the game to shove village schoolgirls among us.” 
“Syb, you don’t mean it?” 

“I do. Miss Wakefield told mother. The 
Lamb had had a letter from her dear Miss 
Craigie, I fancy, and in her joy went bleating 
round to everyone. . . . Fact! This scholar- 
ship kid was the priceless gem from some village 
school.” 

“How putrid!” 

“What on earth are we to do with her?” 

“Put up with her, I suppose, Noreen, my good 
29 


30 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


child. What else do you suppose we can do?” 

“Wish to goodness I hadn’t worked so beastly 
hard last term. Reward, Remove II. B, and 
the company of this village kid. It’s sure to be 
in Remove II. with scholarship! Think she’ll 
say ‘sy’ for say, and drop her ‘h’s’?” 

“She’s Scotch, not Cockney, you cuckoo, and 
probably quite harmless,” someone else chimed 
in. “But I should have thought the Grammar 
School a bit more her line. However to Red- 
lands she’s coming, and at Redlands she’ll pre- 
sumably stay, and we shall have to make the best 
of it.” 

“And of her,” groaned the girl called Syb. 

There was a silence; for the little group of 
girls in the corridor had to make room for some 
indignant fellow-passengers to pass out from the 
compartment in the corner of which Joey was 
wedged, unable, without putting her fingers into 
her ears, and so drawing undesired attention to 
herself, to help overhearing the chief part of this 
conversation. These girls had joined the train at 
Lincoln, where Joej^, in accordance with instruc- 
tions, had changed for the local line; and the 
train had been so full that these girls had never 
bothered to find a seat at all, but stood in a tight 
bunch in the corridor, talking loudly to make 
themselves heard above the roar of the train. 
They were Redlands girls; Joey would have 


DUTIES OF A SCHOLARSHIP KID 31 


known that by their uniform if she hadn’t by 
their talk. 

It had taken her a minute or two to tell what 
they meant by village schoolgirls ; when she 
did, her face grew hot, and she stared defiantly 
towards them. 

They were outsiders themselves, thought Joey, 
to talk like that about a girl who was coming to 
Redlands, even if she had been to a different 
sort of school before. But though the thinking 
it was certainly a relief, it could not quite do 
away with the sore, hurt feeling. Evidently the 
Redlands girls were not inclined to start friends. 

It was all the harder to bear because they 
were such jolly-looking girls. The one called 
Noreen was extremely pretty, with lovely Irish- 
blue eyes under black eyebrows, and a wealth 
of dark hair; and even Syb was nice-looking, 
with a bright colour and a straight, determined 
figure. The girl who had spoken last was short 
and insignificant, with bobbed hair, but her eyes 
were very bright and her smile infectious, Joey 
settled; while the other two were a round-faced 
couple, much too nice in appearance for the sen- 
timents they had been expressing. 

Joey was to have an opportunity for studying 
them more closely in a minute, for apparently 
they had had enough of standing in the corri- 
dor, and came pouring into her compartment so 


32 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


soon as the other passengers had poured out. 
They didn’t trouble even to put their hockey 
sticks in the rack, by which Joey guessed that 
Mote Deep, the station for Redlands, was not 
far away. 

The one called Syb caught sight of Joey as 
they came in. “Hullo!” she said. 

“Hullo!” Joey answered, not being sure what 
to answer. 

“New kid, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“What’s your name?” asked Noreen. 

“Jo — Jocelyn Graham.” 

Noreen shot a quick glance at Syb. “Where 
do you come from?” 

“Scotland.” Joey did not feel inclined to be 
communicative. 

“You’re not the scholarship kid, are you, by 
any chance?” demanded the girl with the bobbed 
hair. 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, murder ! I didn’t think you were, some- 
how.” 

“Did you think I was going to look so aw- 
fully unlike everybody else?” Joey demanded in 
her turn. She could not quite keep the hurt 
tone out of her voice, though she tried. 

“No; why should we?” the girl with the bob- 
bed hair answered, a shade uncomfortably, and 


DUTIES OF A SCHOLARSHIP KID 33 


then they all looked at each other and there was 
an awkward little pause. Noreen broke it, 
speaking in a more friendly tone than any of 
them had done yet. 

“I suppose you’ve had someone to put you up 
to what scholarship girls have to do at Red- 
lands?” 

“No.” Joey was not expansive, suspecting 
some covert allusion to that village school, which 
appeared so upsetting to these very select Red- 
landers. 

“Oh, didn’t they?” Noreen’s blue eyes met 
hers gravely, and, Joey fancied, sympathetically. 

It was rather difficult to ask any favours of 
girls who despised her, but Miss Craigie was far 
away in Edinburgh, wrestling with the “influ- 
enza” — poor Miss Craigie! — and clearly she 
was on the edge of one of those pitfalls that lie 
in wait for new girls. 

“If it wouldn’t be a bother, perhaps you would 
tell me what I have to do?” she asked. 

Noreen leaned forward confidentially. “Of 
course I will. There’s not much to tell; just two 
or three little things that are always done by the 
scholarship winner.” 

The others all displayed a sudden and flat- 
tering interest in Joey. They leaned forward 
too, so as not to miss a word. 

“Tidying the Lab is the most important 


84 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


thing,” Noreen went on gravely. “We’ve got a 
jolly old French Stinks Professor, Monsieur 
Trouville; frightfully brainy over stinks, but un- 
tidy — oh! my Sunday hat and Dublin Castle! — 
untidy isn’t the word for it!” 

Joey tried to grasp the situation valiantly. 

“Do I sweep or dust or wash up his messes 
or what?” she asked. 

The girl with the bobbed hair coughed alarm- 
ingly. Syb thumped her back, and said, “Shut 
it, Barbara!” 

Noreen seemed a little taken aback by this 
question. “No, you don’t, I think — and, any- 
how, you never empty messes out of one saucer 
into another or you’d probably blow up the 
Coll,” she stated candidly. “You just — put 
bottles into the cupboards — and don’t take any 
notice if he tells you to get out and boil yourself. 
He does say these sort of things. He’s a beast of 
a temper,” Noreen added kindly. 

“When do I begin?” Joey asked. 

“Tidying the Lab? Well, I shouldn’t waste 
any time,” Syb chimed in. “As soon as you get 
to Redlands, I should say — anyone would show 
you where it is.” 

“Righto!” Joey told them, with outward 
cheerfulness, though inward tremors. “Any- 
thing else?” 

Noreen’s blue eyes had an odd gleam. “Not 


DUTIES OF A SCHOLARSHIP KID 35 


much. You lace up the Senior Prefect’s boots; 
she is Ingrid Latimer — and . . . and . . . write 
out the supper menus for cook.” 

“What?” shrieked Joey. 

“Oh, don’t you remember, Noreen, they 
stopped that because Mary Hertford wrote like 
a diseased spider,” Syb contributed. “The 
scholarship kid only . . . only ...” 

She choked. 

“You’re not having me on?” demanded Joey. 

“My dear Kid; go to the Lab when you get 
there, and see if we are.” 

The train stopped. “Mote Deep” flashed be- 
fore their eyes. The station for Redlands was 
reached. Joey grasped her things and asked no 
further questions. She was there! 

She stood forlornly by her suit-case on the 
platform, while the rest fell upon some other 
girls waiting for them there. Joey stood apart. 
Noreen seemed to be telling some story in an 
emphatic whisper, a funny story evidently, for 
everybody shrieked with laughter, except one 
freckled girl, who said lazily, “What a shame!” 
and looked towards Joey as though she had half 
a mind to come and speak to her. Joey hoped 
that she would, but she didn’t. It was Syb who 
came at last, when all the luggage had been got 
out and piled in the rather ancient cabs which 
still did duty in Little Holland. 


36 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“We’re going to walk, Jocelyn; of course you 
can come with us if you like, but considering all 
the extra things a scholarship kid has to start 
with, p’r’aps you’d better cab it.” 

Joey was proud, and the inference was rather 
plain. They didn’t want her company. 

“I should have cabbed it anyhow. I’d rather,” 
she told Syb, with decision, and walked off in 
the direction of the cabs, her head held very high. 

She got into the first, and sat on the edge 
of the rather mildewy cushions, trying to face 
things out. It was all rather different from 
what she had pictured; but Mums needn’t know 
that. And she wouldn’t have to worry about the 
girls and their unfriendly ways at present any- 
how, for she had the Lab to put tidy, and after- 
wards that other unknown terror, the lacing up 
of the Head Girl’s boots. 

If only she could have travelled with Miss 
Craigie or someone friendly, she could have 
asked how and when all these things were done ; 
but Father had always said, “Don’t grouse over 
what might have been ; get on to what is.” What 
is, appeared to be tidying the Lab for the ill- 
tempered French Professor; Joey settled to get 
on to that at once. 

The cab was jolting along a flat marsh road 
that lay between a rolling sea of green. The 
real sea was not visible, for a white mist lay on 


DUTIES OF A SCHO ARSHIP KID 37 

the horizon, but the taste and the tang on her 
lips was salt, and there was a wonderful sense 
of space and freshness around her. Nothing 
broke the flatness of the landscape but here and 
there a squat church tower in the midst of a clus- 
ter of cottages. 

Presently another tower drew her attention, 
a tall, gaunt tower, seeming like a warning, up- 
lifted finger raising itself in the peaceful sea of 
green as if to say, “Watch!” Joey wondered 
what its story might be. She craned her head 
out of the cab window to look back at it, long 
after it was receding into distance, and was 
so absorbed in it that she was taken by surprise 
when the cab stopped before high ornamented 
iron gates, and the cabman shouted something 
indistinguishable. A pleasant-looking woman 
ran out, and swung the great gates back. This 
was Redlands. Joey began to feel a little quaky, 
though she tried to pretend it was all rather fun. 
The pretence wasn’t very successful at that mo- 
ment; but at least she knew what was expected 
of her on arrival. That was a decided comfort. 

She looked before her with quite as much in- 
terest as she looked behind, while the cab 
crawled down the long, straight drive towards 
the irregular mass of dim red brick veiled in 
ivy. Architecturally, Redlands College left 
something to be desired, as it had been altered 


38 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


and added to at different times by people of 
widely differing views; but the whole had been 
mellowed together in a district where even new 
red brick hardly stares above a month; and pre- 
sented to its world a silent, solid dignity. 

Joe looked from the original Redlands, an 
early seventeenth century Manor House, to the 
wing built on by Madame Herbert, who kept a 
flourishing school for young ladies of quality in 
the stormy days of the Second James, and on 
to the additions of two centuries later, and the 
Swimming Bath, Gymnasium, and Laboratories 
marking the further requirements of the twenti- 
eth century and the march of education. 

Joey was no authority on architecture, how- 
ever, and did not come to know all this till she 
had been some days at Redlands. Just then 
she merely thought that the place looked jolly, 
though about twice as big as she had expected. 

The cab drew up before the flight of steps 
leading to the front door; Joey jumped out. 
A highly superior parlour-maid appeared be- 
fore she had time to ring the bell. Probably 
she had heard the crunching of the many cab 
wheels on the gravel. Joey spoke at once. 
“Please could you direct me to the Chemical 
Lab? They told me to go there at once.” 

The maid looked a little surprised. “Miss 


DUTIES OF A SCHOLARSHIP KID 39 


Conyngham will be back soon, miss,” she said 
hesitatingly. “Hadn’t you better wait?” 

“I was told to go there,” Joe said firmly, and 
the maid pointed to a building on the right, 
rather behind the main block. “That’s the Lab, 
miss; but unless the Professor is there you won’t 
be able to go in. It’s locked.” 

“I’ll try anyhow,” Joey told her, and walked 
off in the direction pointed out. 

She went up two steps to the door of the Lab. 
Joey went up them cautiously, as when the} 7 
played hide-and-seek at home and somebody 
was likely to spring out and catch you. But no 
furious professor sprang, and Joey tried the 
door, and found it was locked, but on the out- 
side. So she turned the key and went in, with 
the words, “Please, I’ve come to tidy,” ready on 
her lips. 

But there was no one to whom to say them; 
the Lab was quite empty, though it certainly 
looked as though it had not been empty for long. 
Bottles stood upon a table, and two or three 
saucers containing various powders, and a large 
scented silk handkerchief of violet hue lay on 
the floor beside a dark closet with open door. 

Joey began to tidy as well as she could. She 
used her handkerchief for a duster, and pres- 
ently, finding it rather small, took up the violet 
one, which was already tolerably dirty and there- 


40 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


fore might be dirtier without mattering, she 
thought. 

She did not put the bottles away, in case the 
Professor should come back and want them, but 
she took them off the table and dusted it, and 
then put them back in orderly rows. The sau- 
cers she wisely did not touch, except to dust 
underneath them. Then she attacked the dark 
closet, which was surrounded by shelves, holding 
innumerable saucers, trays, bottles, and boxes. 
A good many of these things were on the floor. 
Joey rammed her dusters into the pockets of 
her coat, and set to work to find a safer resting- 
place for them. She was really interested by 
now in this duty which had been thrust upon her 
in right of her scholarship; so absorbed indeed 
that she never heard an exclamation at the door 
and a quick step acrosss the room. She noticed 
nothing till the half-open door of the closet was 
wrenched violently wide. And she sprang round 
to find herself looking into the furious light eyes 
of the French Professor. 


CHAPTER IV 


Enter Gabrielle 

H E was a short man, this Monsieur Trou- 
ville, neat and dapper, though inclined to 
be fat. His high forehead peaked up to his re- 
ceding hair, his short moustache was stiffly waxed 
and stood out very black against his pallid face. 
He was not ill-looking, but just at that moment 
J oey thought she had never seen anyone quite so 
unpleasant. 

He caught her by the arm. “What are you 
doing here? How dare you come? Do you 
not know it is forbidden, except when I take 
the classes here? I will report you to Miss 
Conyngham. You shall be expelled.” 

Joey stood her ground. “You can’t expel 
people when they’ve only just come,” she as- 
sured him stoutly. “It . . . isn’t done. Be- 
sides, I’m all right to tidy here. I’m the scholar- 
ship girl.” 

This last statement did not appear to miti- 
gate Monsieur Trouville’s fury in the least. 

“You have distairbed all my bottles — you 
have made for me hours of work with your 

41 


42 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


disobedience,” he snarled. “I vill have you 
punished — you shall be no more at Redlands!” 

He began to cast about the room, like a blood- 
hound nosing for a trail. Joey felt rather fright- 
ened; there was no doubt about it, Monsieur 
Trouville was really angry. He spluttered out 
the objurgations in his strong French accent 
rather like an angry cat. Somehow, in spite of 
what Noreen and Syb had said, she had not ex- 
pected him to be quite so much annoyed by her 
presence. 

“I’m awfuly sorry if I’ve mixed your bottles,” 
she told him, trying to speak steadily. “I didn’t 
mean to. Perhaps some time when you’re not 
too busy you would just show me how you like 
things tidied, and then ” 

Monsieur Trouville made three strides to- 
wards her, with so menacing an expression that 
Joey gave back a step in spite of herself. 

“Miss Conyngham tell you to say dat?” he 
demanded. 

“No, of course not. Do you suppose one 
needs telling to be polite?” Joey answered, grow- 
ing angry in her turn. “If you don’t want your 
old Lab tidied for you I’m sure I don’t want to 
do it. Good-bye.” 

And Joey departed with all the dignity that 
she could muster, though she felt a good deal 
more like crying. The Professor’s suspicious at- 



HOW DARE YOU COME?” 




ENTER GABRIELLE 


43 


titude was rather hurting. “He couldn’t have 
been a worse beast if he thought I meant to steal 
his bottles,” she told herself. 

She was half-way back towards the front 
door before she discovered she had stolen some- 
thing from the Lab after all. Fumbling for the 
handkerchief which was rather badly wanted at 
that moment, she brought out a curiously unfa- 
miliar one of violet silk, now excessively grubby. 
She looked at it with dismay. What wouldn’t 
the Professor do if she went back and told him 
that to add to her other offences she had used his 
handkerchief for a duster. 

“I’d better wash it first before I return it,” 
Joey said to herself, and rammed it back into 
her pocket. 

She wondered whether Noreen and the others 
had turned up yet; it would be satisfactory to 
tell them that she had done the Lab already. 
Joey thought that she would not say anything 
about the Professor’s fury, which, after all, had 
been unjust. She put her head down, and raced 
at her best pace for the front door; it would be 
rather fun to talk as though the Professor had 
been quite pleased with her tidying. 

Phut! Joey had gon* full tilt into someone 
who was coming from the house — a very tall 
girl with her hair tied back. “Here, look where 


44 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 

you’re going*, you young idiot!” the big girl 
called out angrily. 

Joey came to earth metaphorically with a 
bump. “I say, I’m frightfully sorry. Did I 
hurt you?” 

“That’s not likely, considering you’re half my 
size,” said the tall girl. “But you should look. 
What’s your name?” 

“Jocelyn Graham. What’s yours?” 

The tall girl frowned. “I am Ingrid Latimer, 
Senior Prefect here,” she said coldly, and Joey 
understood that she had done the wrong thing 
in asking that off-hand question. 

She became rather flustered. “Oh, are you? 
Then — when do you want your boots put on?” 
she asked nervously. 

Ingrid frowned more alarmingly. “What on 
earth are you talking about?” 

“I got the scholarship — don’t I have to put 
your boots on?” faltered Joey. Now she came 
to put it into words it did sound an extremely 
silly thing to say. Somehow she wasn’t sur- 
prised by the crushing tone of the Senior Pre- 
fect’s answer. 

“Please don’t try to be funny; we’ve no use 
for that sort of thing here. Who put you up to 
all this?” 

A light began to break upon Joey. Some- 
thing hot surged in her chest. “Oughtn’t I to 


ENTER GABRIELLE 45 

have tidied the Lab either?” she asked, with the 
courage of desperation. 

“Tidied the Lab! Why, no one’s allowed 
there without Monsieur or the Chemistry Mis- 
tress. Look here, my good child, are you trying 
to be funny — I shouldn’t, because it won’t pay 
you — or are you the outsidest edge of imbecile 
new kids that ever came to Redlands?” 

Joey was silent. She was trying to adjust 
things in her mind. The girls had had her on, 
and oh how easily! She was the outsidest edge 
in imbeciles, she supposed. 

“Who put you up to all this?” repeated the 
Senior Prefect magisterially. 

Joey stuck her hands into her pockets. She 
had been made a fool of ; well, it wasn’t pleasant, 
but one must grin and bear it, even the hateful 
apologising to the justly incensed Professor, 
which she supposed must be her next proceed- 
ing. She wasn’t going to get the others into 
trouble anyway, and Ingrid Latimer’s tone sug- 
gested trouble ahead. “Oh, never mind!” she 
said. 

“I wish to know,” Ingrid repeated. “Their 
names, please?” 

“Sorry, it can’t be done,” Joey stuck out hard- 
ily. “And if you don’t want your boots put on, 
I’ll go — please!” 

The Senior Prefect looked as though she could 


46 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


hardly believe her ears; but Joey hadn’t been 
educated up to Senior Prefects and their expres- 
sions. She bolted straight back to the Lab; it 
would be best to get that hateful apology over 
at once. 

But the door was locked, this time on the in- 
side, and though she knocked till her knuckles 
were sore, there was no answer. 

“Hi, Jocelyn Graham, you’re to go to Miss 
Conyngham,” shouted a familiar voice, and 
Noreen hove in sight round the corner. 

Joey saw her opportunity. “Tell that to 
some other idiot, if you can find one silly enough 
to listen to the sort of things you say,” she told 
her. “Personally, I find it jolly interesting to 
see what a kid like you will try on next; but 
even I don’t want too much funniness, thank 
you.” 

She marched off, leaving an outraged and as- 
tounded Noreen staring after her, and betook 
herself to the sleepy stream meandering at the 
bottom of the garden. It was a comfort to feel 
that Noreen had not suceeded in having her on 
a third time, but it was about all the comfort 
there was. J oey felt desperately home-sick and 
miserable just then, and as if she would give 
anything in the world to find herself on the 
heathy moor, or making bannocks for tea in the 


ENTER GABRIELLE 47 

kitchen of the little grey stone cottage, far away 
from this puzzling and unfriendly new world. 

She stared across the sleepy water, wonder- 
ing whether Father had felt more wretched 
than this when he was a prisoner among his 
enemies. Yes, of course it had been worse 
for him, a great deal worse; for he had been 
in the midst of dirt and ill-usage and bar- 
barities unspeakable — only — he hadn’t ex- 
pected to find the Huns friendly gentlemen, 
and Joey had somehow expected a great deal 
from Redlands. Still, that was no reason for 
making a fuss; Father hadn’t — Joey knew 
that. She screwed her eyes up tight, and 
rubbed the back of a grubby hand across them 
fiercely. And while she was doing that some- 
one spoke to her. 

“I say, are you Jocelyn Graham?” 

Joey opened her eyes hastily. A girl was 
standing by her, a girl with long lovely auburn- 
brown hair and clear eyes a shade darker, 
and a delicate clear skin. She wasn’t as tall 
as Joey herself, anything like, and she hadn’t 
the superior way of talking, which Joey had 
noticed in the rest. 

“You are Jocelyn, aren’t you?” this girl went 
on, and Joey liked her way of saying it, for it 
was friendly. “Well, do let me take you to Miss 
Conyngham — yes, it’s all right, she really wants 


48 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


you — and she sent for you some time ago, you 
know.” 

Joey remembered. Panic took hold of her. 
“Will she be mad?” 

The pretty girl smiled. “She’s seeing the 
other new girls. You’ll be all right if we run.” 

They ran. Somehow Joey did not doubt this 
new friend. “What’s your name?” she asked 
breathlessly, as they tore up from the stream 
and across the gardens. 

“Gabrielle — Gabrielle Arden.” 

“Why did you come after me?” Joey asked. 

“Oh, Noreen thought you had gone down that 
way.” 

“It was decent of you,” Joey said, with con- 
viction. 

“Jocelyn — Noreen and the others didn’t 
mean anything, truly,” Gabrielle panted. 
“They didn’t think you would really go and 
do the Lab, you know.” 

Joey returned no answer; for one thing she 
had no breath to speak; for the second, she 
looked forward to a settlement, a little later on, 
with Noreen and Co., when the interview with 
Miss Conyngham and the hateful apology to 
the Professor were well over. 

Gabrielle said nothing more either, and the 
two arrived in silence at Miss Conyngham’ s 
door. Miss Conyngham herself opened it, shep- 


ENTER GABRIELLE 


49 


herding out three girls who looked new and 
rather frightened. 

“Ah, Gabrielle, that’s right,” Miss Conyng- 
ham said. “Kathleen Ronaldshay has no elder 
sisters here; will you take care of her and show 
her round? And here is Jocelyn. I will intro- 
duce all you new girls to each other, and then 
I want a little talk with Jocelyn alone.” 

Joey shook hands with Bernadine Elton, 
Kathleen Ronaldshay, and Ella Marne ; then the 
three were sent off in Gabrielle’s care — they 
were all of them much bigger than she was — and 
Miss Conyngham drew Jocelyn into her pretty 
room. 

Miss Conyngham matched her room; she was 
dainty and fair and fragile-looking, and, as Joey 
mentioned afterwards to Mums, “looked as if a 
light were burning inside her which made her all 
lit up as soon as she began to talk.” 

She did not look as though she could keep 
six hundred girls in order; but Joey found out 
very soon that appearances were deceitful in this 
case. Just now, however, Miss Conyngham was 
not out to keep anyone in order. 

“I was so sorry that you and Miss Craigie 
couldn’t come down together; but I have had a 
wire, she is better, and the temperature very 
much down this morning. So I hope we may 
get her back in a fortnight. And by that time 


50 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


I expect you will have made hosts of friends, 
and have a tremendous amount to tell her.” 

Joey assented cautiously. Privately she 
doubted the friends, and it certainly wouldn’t 
be possible to tell Miss Craigie that she hated 
Redlands for fear it should go back to Mums 
via the minister. But an assent of some kind 
seemed the proper thing. 

“You will be placed in Remove II. B; that is 
the head form of the Lower School,” Miss 
Conyngham went on. “Gabrielle, who brought 
you here, is in that form, only she is A: she is 
Head of the Lower School, you know, and only 
thirteen; we are all proud of Gabrielle at Red- 
lands.” 

“Is she top of this Remove place, then?” asked 
Joey. | 

“Not necessarily. The Head of the Lower 
School is chosen from Remove II., but it is in 
open Election among the other girls. They vote 
for the best in every way out of sixty Remove 
girls; you want a great many qualities to be 
Head of the Lower School, Jocelyn.” 

Joey was interested. She somehow hadn’t 
guessed that Gabrielle was anything special, ex- 
cept good-natured to a new girl. 

“The election of the Head Girl for the two 
hundred and fifty of the Upper School, and for 
the three hundred and fifty of the Lower, hap- 


ENTER GABRIELLE 


51 


pens at the end of every year,” Miss Conyng- 
ham went on, in a nice companionable way, as 
though she were quite sure that Joey would be 
interested, and feel the school matters her own. 
“It is a very serious affair, I can assure you. The 
result of the Election holds good for the whole 
succeeding year; at Christmas Gabrielle will 
stand for re-election — that is, if she doesn’t pass 
out of Remove into the Upper School. By the 
end of the term all this will have come to mean 
a very great deal to you, I think.” 

Joey’s assent was again a model of caution; 
of course, Miss Conyngham didn’t realise how 
the girls resented that village school. Probably 
Gabrielle had just been nice because she did not 
know. 

“Well, now it must be tea-time,” Miss Con- 
yngham concluded, “and you must go and have 
tea. Give Matron your keys afterwards, and 
she will show you where to put away your 
clothes.” 

Miss Conyngham consulted a list pinned on 
her wall. “You are in Blue Dormitory, I see; 
that is a very favourite one. I will ask Gabrielle 
to introduce you to your room-mates, Sybil 
Gray, Barbara Emerson, and Noreen O’Hara. 
I think you will all get on very comfortably to- 
gether.” 

Joey did not even give a cautious assent to 


52 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


this; she thought she knew exactly how that 
quartette were going to get on. She just said, 
“Thank you, Miss Conyngham.” 

Miss Conyngham rang the bell twice. A min- 
ute later there was a tap at the door, and Ga- 
brielle answered her “Come in.” 

“Take Jocelyn in to tea and show her her dor- 
mitory, Gabrielle, please,” Miss Conyngham 
said. She did not add, “Take care of her,” for 
which Joey was grateful. It was bad enough 
to be disliked by the rest, but at least she needn’t 
be despised. No one should guess that she 
wasn’t feeling happy at Redlands. 

“Which dorm are you in?” Gabrielle asked, 
as soon as Miss Conyngham’s door was shut be- 
hind them. 

“Blue,” Joey said briefly. 

“That’s topping. It’s next door to mine, and 
such a jolly set there.” 

“I know,” Joey interrupted rather grimly. 
“Sybil and Barbara and Noreen.” 

“Do you know them, then?” asked Gabrielle, 
surprised. 

“We met in the train,” Joey explained. She 
hesitated for a second. “I shall like being in 
their dorm.” 


CHAPTER V 


Liveliness in Blue Dorm 

T EA was over — a tea which seemed a babel 
to J oey’s unaccustomed ears, although 
Cousin Greta would probably have laughed at 
the term “unaccustomed,” considering the noise 
that the five Grahams could make among them- 
selves. 

But Cousin Greta would never have guessed 
what a great school could do at the first meal, 
with discipline relaxed and everybody trying to 
tell special friends how they had spent the holi- 
days. 

Joey sat under the wing of a very young 
mistress, who wore a great bunch of violets in her 
belt, and was addressed as “Miss Lambton.” 
She saw to it that Joey had plenty of bread and 
jam and cake, and addressed two or three good- 
natured questions to her; but it wasn’t in the na- 
ture of things that the new girl shouldn’t feel 
rather out of it, when all near neighbours wanted 
to tell Miss Lambton where they had been and 
what they had done, and she had to interrupt 
her adorers in order to speak to Joey. Gabrielle 
53 


54 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


had been swamped directly they came into the 
huge refectory by two vehement people, with a 
tiny silver shield fastened to their djibbahs, who 
assured her vociferously that she had promised 
to sit between them for the first tea last term. 

However, she remembered the new girl direct- 
ly tea was over, and made her way to Joey's 
side, when the girls rose from table. 

“Will you come to your dorm now?” 

“I've got to go and say something to the Pro- 
fessor in Lab,” Joey said doubtfully, not being 
at all sure that when she reached Blue Dorm 
she wouldn’t be expected to stay there interview- 
ing Matron, or something of that kind. 

“Oh, come on, Gabrielle, if the new kid doesn’t 
want to be shown her dormitory, don’t fag over 
her,” urged two or three impatient voices; but 
Gabrielle stood her ground. 

“I quite forgot. Ingrid Latimer — she’s Se- 
nior Prefect — of course, you don’t know her yet 
— sent me a message for you. She said the Lab 
was all right, and she had seen Monsieur Trou- 
ville. I don’t know what it means, but perhaps 
you do.” 

“Yes, I know,” Joey answered shortly. It 
had been kind of the Senior Prefect to face the 
furious Professor for her, and Gabrielle seemed 
kind and friendly, too; but you couldn’t tell 
about these girls. They despised her because of 


LIVELINESS IN BLUE DORM 55 


Calgarloch school, and she never knew when 
they would have set her on about something else. 
She didn’t feel inclined to be effusive. 

Gabrielle shook off her admirers and con- 
ducted Joey up many stairs and along many 
passages in silence. Only when she had opened 
the door of a large, light, airy room, with blue- 
washed walls and blue quilts to the four beds and 
blue curtains to the windows, did she find her 
voice again. 

“This is Blue Dorm, Jocelyn. I’m sure you’ll 
like it. Isn’t it a topping view? Look how 
well you can see the Fossdyke Wash — and that’s 
the Walpole Fen, all down on the right — it’s 
reclaimed, you know — and do you see that tow- 
er?” 

“Yes; I saw it coming along. What is it?” 
asked Joey, coming a little more out of her shell. 

Gabrielle sunk her voice to an impressive 
whisper. “It’s haunted — it is really, Jocelyn. 
Of course Miss Conyngham and the sensible 
people would say nonsense ; but we’ve heard aw- 
fully queer sounds sometimes, and once I saw 
some blue light with my own eyes, when Doron 
Westerby — another four had this dorm last term 
— had toothache in the night, and called me. 
You know a man was murdered there; ages 
back, it was. His enemy tied him up in an un- 
derground room of the tower, and then blew 


56 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


out a bit of the sea-wall at one of the great 
autumn tides.” 

Joey gasped. “How beastly. Are his moul- 
dering bones there now?” 

“I think they’re cleared up,” Gabrielle said re- 
gretfully. “You look for the light, Jocelyn — 
you’ll have a topping chance. I wonder which 
bed you’ll have — three have windows, you see; 
it’s only in that fourth one by the door you can’t 
see anything, and I don’t think it’s fixed yet 
who sleeps there.” 

As if in answer to her words, there was a 
stampede outside, and the three other owners 
of Blue Dorm rushed headlong in. Each car- 
ried something in her hand — a book, a comb, 
a handkerchief. With one consent they rushed 
upon the three window beds, and hurling the 
article upon it, shouted breathlessly, “Bags I 
this!” 

Gabrielle got rather red. She walked up to 
Syb and spoke in a low voice. Joey caught the 
words “a new girl” and “playing up.” But 
whatever her appeal might be, it hadn’t much ef- 
fect. Joey marched over to the bed by the door. 

“This is mine, then,” she said. 

Matron came in a minute later, in her usual 
hurry, demanding keys and everyone’s atten- 
tion instantly. Gabrielle was dispatched to the 
big basement room downstairs to help in the un- 


LIVELINESS IN BLUE DORM 57 

packing and putting away of her things; and 
J oey found she was expected to do the same, af- 
ter Matron had shown her exactly where and 
how her things should go, and explained that 
there was a dormitory inspection, inside and out, 
of drawers and cupboards every Saturday of 
term. 

J oey ran upstairs with armfuls of clothes, and 
downstairs to get more for a long time after 
that; but at last everything was put away, and 
Matron, weary and a trifle dishevelled, made a 
tour of inspection before going to see the babies 
into bed. 

The four in Blue Dorm were left to arrange 
their photographs and private belongings be- 
fore changing into their white frocks for supper. 
Joey got to work on her shelf and combined 
chest of drawers and dressing-table silently and 
unsociably. The others had a great deal to say 
to each other, and took no notice of her for some 
little time. Then Sybil, who had finished, came 
strolling up to the corner by the door, and cast a 
glance over Joey’s photographs. 

“I say, what an awfully good-looking boy,” 
she said, picking up the photo of Gavin, taken 
for Mums out of the tip Uncle Staff sent him 
when he won the scholarship. “Who’s he — your 
brother?” 

The devil entered into Joey. “No; that’s the 


58 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


flesher’s boy in Calgarloch, a great pal of mine,” 
she stated easily, arranging Mums side by side 
with Father in uniform. 

Syb stared. Joey went on. “The kid in socks 
is the gravedigger’s youngest — he’s called Bingo; 
and these two, Ronnie and Kirsty, belong to the 
odd-and-end shop at Crumach.” 

With which appalling size in thumpers, Joey 
turned her back upon the girls, and went on ar- 
ranging her photographs. Syb left her in a 
hurry; the others whispered together. Joey 
finished her corner, and got out her evening 
frock. 

“Having us on?” asked Noreen, with a doubt- 
ful note of appreciation. 

Joey slipped her frock over her head. “Find 
out,” she suggested. 

That made a pause, and everybody put on 
their evening dresses in silence. Barbara broke 
it while hair was being brushed. 

“I suppose Gabrielle told you that this dorm 
tubs at night,” she observed unwillingly. “You 
had better not be late coming up, because the 
water gets cold so quickly.” 

“But of course you’d bath last because of be- 
ing new,” Syb joined in, rather truculently. 

Joey made no answer; she was considering. 
“Where is the bathroom?” she asked. 


LIVELINESS IN BLUE DORM 59 


“Right opposite. Blue Dorm uses No. 8,” 
Barbara vouchsafed. 

“Thank you,” Joey answered, with extraor- 
dinary meekness, a meekness that was almost 
overdone. These horrid swanky girls had forced 
her to accept the worst corner of the room, but it 
was certainly nearest the door, and Joey was 
quite clear in her own mind which of the Blue 
Dorm occupants was going to have first tub to- 
night. 

They went down to supper after that; the 
three together, and Joey behind. There was a 
very nice supper laid in the huge refectory; 
but Joey was home-sick for the little sitting- 
room at Calgarloch and the brandered herrings 
and the brown bread, and Robina, the lass, bring- 
ing in the pudding, and joining freely in the con- 
versation if she felt inclined. 

Joey sat between two rather big girls, and 
they only spoke once to her to ask her name and 
age, and then talked hockey across her for the 
rest of the meal. Not that Joey cared; she as- 
sured herself that she didn’t want to be friends 
with these girls. 

There was dancing after supper in the Queen’s 
Hall, but Joey looked on. Dancing wasn’t 
taught at Calgarloch, and she refused decidedly 
when Gabrielle came and asked for a valse. 
And then at nine there were prayers, and the 


60 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


whole of the Upper School, with Remove II. A 
and B of the Lower, filed past Miss Conyngham 
and said good-night. The Juniors had been 
swept off a good deal earlier. 

Joey was really glad when bedtime came. 
She was longing to get a bit of her own back. 
Noreen and Co. had taken her in, and made an 
utter fool of her over the tidying of the Lab 
and the putting on of the Head Girl’s boots; 
but Joey wasn’t going to sit down meekly 
under the treatment. She managed to plant 
herself just in front of Sybil, Barbara, and 
Noreen in the long procession; and before she 
went downstairs she had put out her towel, 
sponges, etc., where she could snatch them easily. 
The procession moved on; and she moved with 
it. 

She could hear Miss Conyngham’s clear, mel- 
low voice, “Good-night, Jacynth. Good-night, 
Mary. Good-night, Doron — oh, what about that 
tooth? Has it given you more trouble?” 

Block number one. Joey heard Syb’s 
grumble behind. “Bother Doron’s toothache — 
the water will be cold.” 

Doron’s toothache was much better, thank 
you ; yes, the stuff had done it a lot of good ; she 
wouldn’t want any more, she thought. “Thank 
you, Miss Conyngham.” 


LIVELINESS IN BLUE DORM 61 


Doron Westerby moved on; so did the pro- 
cession. 

“Good-night, Sylvia. Good-night, Trixie. 
Good-night, Cecily. Good-night, Kathleen — 
any more news from home, dear?” 

Block number two. Joey wondered if Syb’s 
exaggerated groan would be heard by Miss 
Conyngham ; they were so near her now. 

Yes, Kathleen had heard from home, and 
Frankie was better. His temperature had gone 
down three degrees, thank you, Miss Conyng- 
ham. 

Kathleen was disposed of. “Good-night, 
Thelma. Good-night, Winifred. Good-night — 
oh, it’s you, Jocelyn? Settled your things com- 
fortably into the Blue Dormitory?” 

“Yes, thank you, Miss Conyngham.” 

“That’s right. Sleep well. Good-night, 
Jocelyn.” 

The procession moved on. Joey was out of the 
Queen’s Hall and on the stairs. Up them three 
steps at a time — the long legs at which Calgar- 
loch stared amazed were certainly of use now. 
Behind her she heard Syb and Barbara disput- 
ing whose turn it was to have first bath. As the 
turn had to be remembered across the width of 
the holidays that was a difficult matter to de- 
cide. Joey chuckled inwardly; they really 
needn’t worry themselves to remember. She 


62 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


plunged at the door of Blue Dorm and grabbed 
her things, including pyjamas and dressing- 
gown. Too late; the other three saw what she 
meant to do. 

“Here, you are last for the bathroom,” Syb 
shouted. 

Joey dived across the passage and flung her- 
self and her belongings into Bathroom 8. “I 
don’t think!” she said succinctly, as she slammed 
the bolt home. 

Joey enjoyed her bath. She took as much hot 
water as she wanted, and didn’t come out, what- 
ever the bangings and objurgations outside the 
door, till she had been in the bath as long as 
she wished. Then at lasrt she emerged, to face 
a furious trio waiting for her in Blue Dorm. 

J oey plumped down her armful of belongings 
on her bed. “I should hurry,” she advised po- 
litely. “The tap was beginning to run cooler 
before I left.” 

Syb bolted to the bathroom; the other two 
turned their backs studiously upon the aggres- 
sor, and talked ostentatiously to one another. 
Joey curled up on her bed, did her hair in three 
bangs, and then wrote up her diary for the first 
day at Redlands. 

“Redlands is a hole, and the girls are pigs. I 
hate them all, except p’r’aps Gabrielle. They 


LIVELINESS IN BLUE DORM 68 


think it a fair disgrace to have been at a council 
school, and say beastly things. I wish I was 
seventeen this minute, and coming away: 111 
never get a bit of paper big enough to cross off 
all the hateful horrid days I’ve got to stay here. 
I have settled never to say a single word to any 
of these hateful horrid swanky girls, except, 
p’r’aps Gabrielle, as long as I live.” 

The letter to Mums, which was also written 
while the other three bathed in tepid water with 
much bitterness of spirit, expressed a rather dif- 
ferent view. 

“It’s frightfully pretty here,” Joey wrote, 
“and the Wash lies on the edge of what you see 
— all glittering — and the river is mixed up with 
it, and the Deeps are like another sea, only green 
grass. The College is awfully nice, and some of 
it is very ancient and historical. I’ll tell you the 
history bits when I’ve mugged them up. I’m 
in Blue Dorm, and that’s the nicest Dorm. I 
have the bed nearest the door, and that’s fright- 
fully handy for getting first bath. My room- 
companions are Sybil, Barbara, and Noreen 
O’Hara. They were very interested in my pho- 
tographs. I’m going to have a topping time 
here, I can see, and I should think I’m in the 
liveliest dorm that ever was. — Your loving 

“Joey.” 

“P.S. — You might write soon; I’m frightfully 
happy here, still you might write.” 


64 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


A bell rang just as Joey had finished her let- 
ter, and a stentorian voice in the passage cried, 
“Silence for prayers.” 

Noreen O’Hara rushed from the bathroom, af- 
ter a tub lasting a short two minutes, and hurled 
herself upon her knees among her sponges and 
bath-towel. A minute later a Prefect looked in, 
and withdrew noiselessly. 

There was absolute quiet for some seven or 
eight minutes, and then a little murmur arose 
again. 

Joey had dropped her writing- things and said 
her prayers like the rest. She wondered if she 
ought to feel ashamed of her behaviour with the 
bath ; the sad thing was that she didn’t, particu- 
larly. And if she said she was sorry now, the 
furious three would think she was afraid of what 
they might do to her. Joey decided to stick it 
out, but have a shorter and a cooler bath to-mor- 
row. 

Another bell rang. Noreen and Syb were al- 
ready in bed; Barbara jumped up at the bell, 
and Joey more slowly followed her example. 
The Prefect looked in again. 

“All in bed — that’s right.” She turned to put 
out the light. “Good-night.” 

“Good-night, Ingrid,” said the injured three 
in a burst. “Good-night,” said Joey pointedly 
by herself when the others had finished. 


LIVELINESS IN BLUE DORM 65 


Ingrid Latimer looked in her direction. 
“Why, it’s the new kid.” 

She came across to Joey’s bed. “Got my mes- 
sage, young ’un?” 

“Yes, thanks awfully.” 

“That’s all right. He won’t think any more 
of it. You come to me, if anybody tries on that 
sort of game again. You’ll always find some 
fat-headed idiots in Coll who think it funny. 
Good-night.” 

“Good-night, and thanks no end.” 

Ingrid turned the light out. Blue Dorm was 
left in outward peace. It was outward only! 


CHAPTER VI 


A Night on the Leads 

I NGRID’S steps — alert, responsible — died 
away into distance. Silence settled down. 
Then Sybil drew a long breath, and spoke in 
accents which were hushed, but audible. 

“Of all the utterly mean young skunks !” 
“Disgusting!” Noreen agreed. 

“But I suppose she hasn’t learnt anything bet- 
ter,” said Barbara. 

Joey wriggled in bed, but held her tongue. 
Let them go on; they wouldn’t hurt her. 

“Such a pig about the bath-water — I hardly 
washed at all,” Syb went on. 

“Frightfully lowering to Redlands to turn 
that sort in,” Barbara took up the parable. 

Joey couldn’t keep out of the fray any longer. 
“Did the Redlands girls want to have a nice kind 
fat old nurse apiece to look after them and keep 
them from being contaminated by less select 
people?” she jeered. “Poor little dears!” 

“We’re not talking to you, Jocelyn Graham. 
We don’t talk to girls who behave as you do,” 
Sybil told her icily. 

66 / 


A NIGHT ON THE LEADS 67 


“Righto. Don’t then,” Joey said, and turned 
over in bed. 

But the outraged three had not finished by 
any manner of means. 

“Sucking up and sneaking to Ingrid Latimer, 
too; I do call that the limit,” Noreen went on. 
“Notice how she jawed at us — and I adored In- 
grid all last term.” 

Joey was too proud to speak again after her 
recent snub, or she might have informed them 
that she had not sneaked to Ingrid Latimer. As 
it was — let them think it if they liked — she didn’t 
care. 

“Shame to put her into Blue Dorm,” that was 
Barbara. 

“P’r’aps she could be cleared out.” 

“Miss Conyngham is frightfully stuffy about 
changing dorms after she and Matron have 
worked it all out.” 

Joey got out of bed, shouldered into a dress- 
ing-gown, thrust on slippers, and seized her blue 
quilt. 

“As it’s rather difficult to go to sleep, while 
you’re making all this row, I’ll sleep somewhere 
else to-night, if you don’t mind,” she explained, 
with elaborate politeness, and was out of the 
door, trailing her quilt after her, before any of 
the three had recovered from the blank surprise 
caused by her remark. 


68 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“When she came out of Bathroom 8, Joey 
had noticed a ladder at the far end of the pas- 
sage; she guessed that it must lead on to the 
roof. And what better place could one find to 
sleep on than a roof, on such a fine September 
night as this? Even if it rained she thought the 
leads would be better than a Blue Dorm full of 
hateful girls who talked at her. 

She scrambled up the latter, stumbling over 
the blue quilt; pushed open a trap-door, and ar- 
rived, sure enough, upon the leads, all silver in 
the moonlight. 

She had been boiling over with fury when she 
escaped from the Blue Dorm, but this wonderful 
silver world had a calming effect. It was far 
clearer now than it had been when she came. 
Then a haze had hovered over the horizon; now 
the broad line of the Fossdyke Wash glittered a 
silver glory on the edge of the white world. 

The great stretch of the Walpole Fen inter- 
sected by its wide ditches unrolled itself before 
her, and in the flatness that curious round tower 
stood out conspicuously. Joey looked at it with 
interest; it was curious to see a tower standing 
all by itself like that. She wondered whether she 
would be allowed to go and explore it sometime, 
by herself of course, without the company of any 
of those hateful Redlands girls. And then she 
thought how interested Mums would be in hear- 


A NIGHT ON! THE LEADS 69 


ing of it. And then she thought how much more 
interested Mums would be if she, Joey, had seen 
the redoubtable blue light which Gabrielle had 
mentioned. And then she wondered if she would 
see it to-night, where she would have an even bet- 
ter view than if she had been allowed a window 
bed. That was the last clear thought in her 
mind before she found a sheltered corner, rolled 
herself tightly in her quilt, and fell asleep with 
her face buried in the hollow of her arm to get 
away from the moonlight. She dreamt of the 
tower, of course, but all her dreams were con- 
fused, not clear. 

She awoke at last to a sense of cold, which 
had been with her for some time before it roused 
her. 

“You little pig Kirsty; you’ve taken all the 
clothes,” she murmurred sleepily; and then, as 
consciousness came back, she knew that she 
wasn’t in the familiar little bed at Pilot Cottage, 
where there was just room for Kirsty and her- 
self and no more, but somewhere in a dark out- 
door world with no moon left and a fine rain 
falling. 

Joey stood up, holding her damp quilt about 
her. Luckily, her dressing-gown was thick, but 
even with that she shivered — of course she must 
go inside to Blue Dorm, which seemed decidedly 
attractive at that moment; only how in the world 


70 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


was she to find the trap-door in the dark? Joey 
turned round, trying to make out the geography 
of the roof, and, as she turned, something blue 
shone for a moment through the drizzly darkness. 
She watched the light, forgetting damp and dis- 
comfort and the rather forlorn feeling which had 
seized her. The blue light flashed out three 
times and then disappeared. Almost at once 
the stable clock struck two. 

The blue light had done more than give Joey 
a thrilling story for Mums: it had shown her how 
she stood. When she came up through the trap- 
door, the tower had been on her right. She 
made straight for the trap-door in the darkness, 
and landed full upon it; she felt the ring through 
her bedroom slippers. 

She knelt down and lifted it cautiously, crept 
through and went down the ladder backwards 
much impeded by the quilt, and with all her teeth 
chattering as if they would never stop. Noise- 
lessly she tiptoed into Blue Dorm, found her bed, 
and got into it, pulling her bedclothes tightly 
round her. 

Unfortunately, this process did not keep her 
teeth from chattering, cold chills chased each 
other up and down her spine, and the bed shook 
with her shivering. 

Someone spoke from one of the window beds: 

“I say, Jocelyn!” 


A NIGHT ON THE LEADS 71 


“Thought you weren’t talking to me!” Joey 
inquired, as high-handedly as is possible with 
teeth chattering like castanets. It was Noreen’s 
voice that had spoken; she recognized the faint 
touch of the brogue. 

“Are you crying?” 

“Likely!” Joey got all the scorn possible in- 
to that one word. 

Noreen sat up in bed. 

“Then what are you doing?” 

“Shivering.” 

“Oh!” said Noreen, and ducked down in her 
bed, because there was a step outside, and the 
door opened. Ingrid came in with a candle. 

“I thought I heard talking; is any one ill?” 

“Joey withdrew herself and her shivers well 
under the bedclothes, and buried her face in the 
pillow. 

“Nothing’s the matter, Ingrid,” Noreen said, 
rather flustered. “I just thought one of them 
was awake — and asked.” 

Ingrid was in a hurry and rather cold besides. 
She did not make a tour of the beds in Blue 
Dorm. 

“My dear Kid, don’t wake people up to ask 
if they’re awake,” she said. “You spoke quite 
loud: I heard you in the passage, when I was 
fetching stuff for Dorothy’s earache. Go to 
sleep, and anyhow keep quiet, please,” 


72 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


She shut the door. Noreen wisely waited for 
a good five minutes before saying anything else. 
Then she got out of bed and came across to Joey, 
carrying her quilt. 

“Stick this on top of yours. Goodness, you 
are cold. Like my rug too? It’s just folded at 
the end of my bed ; I can get it in a sec.” 

“Thanks awfully,” jerked poor Joey, wonder- 
ing if she ever would be warm again. Though 
she didn’t want to take anything from these hor- 
rid unfriendly Redlands girls, she couldn’t resist 
the quilt and the rug, and Noreen’s voice was 
kind just then. 

“Where have you been?” Noreen whispered, 
as she tucked the plaid down over the two quilts. 

“Roof,” said Joey. 

“You haven’t? Up the ladder and on to the 
leads. You slept there? I say, there would 
have been a row if Ingrid found out!” 

“Well, I suppose so,” Joey acknowledged. 
Her teeth were chattering rather less; it was 
more possible to speak. 

“She’d be sure to say we drove you to it,” 
Noreen said. “She knew about our ragging 
you. ...” 

“I didn’t tell her — at least when I asked about 
her boots I spoke about the Lab, and she wanted 
to know who told me to tidy it,” Joey explained. 


A NIGHT ON THE LEADS 73 

“Did you tell?” 

“No.” 

Noreen sat down on her bed. 

“You’re rather a young sport, Jocelyn. I 
say, it was rather a shame about the Lab; was 
the Professor a frightful beast about it?” 

“He was rather; I think he needn’t have been 
so bad considering the French and we are allies 
for evermore,” Joey said. 

“He’s only French-Swiss; daresay he can’t be 
as nice as pure French,” Noreen suggested 
soothingly. “Anyhow, Ingrid has settled him 
up — she can tackle any professor born: you 
should see her with our literature prof : disagrees 
with him and that sort of thing. All the same, 
it was a mean shame to have you on about the 
Lab, Jocelyn; I was really rather sorry about it 
afterwards — only, you know, you were so uppish 
about the bath.” 

The shivers had practically subsided; Joey felt 
happier. 

“I know; I shouldn’t do that again.” 

“I don’t blame you for getting something off 
us when you had the chance,” Noreen observed, 
with an effort after fair play. “Good-night, 
Jocelyn: I hope you’ll be all right now.” 

“Good-night, Noreen; thanks ever so.” 

Joey went to sleep at last, with an idea in her 


74 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


mind that some at least of the girls at Redlands 
were better than they seemed. 

No one could think how a girl who had ar- 
rived perfectly well at four o’clock yesterday, 
could manage to develop such a frightful crying 
cold as Joey brought to breakfast next morning. 
Miss Lambton commented upon it; her neigh- 
bors at breakfast commented upon it with less 
concern and more candour; Matron commented 
upon it quite severely, while sticking a thermom- 
eter that tasted of carbolic into Joey’s unwilling 
mouth, in the hall. 

Noreen was hovering near. 

“Please I expect that bed by the door has a 
draught or something,” she suggested. “Shall 
I change with her? I don’t mind really.” 

“Rubbish about a draught,” Matron answered 
briskly. “There is just as much draught by a 
window. But you can change beds if you both 
like — only it’s not to be a precedent.” 

Matron’s urbanity was possibly due to the 
fact that Joey had been proved to have no tem- 
perature, and therefore could not be convicted of 
the heinous crime of sickening for measles, “flu,” 
or chicken-pox. 

“Keep a sports-coat on all day in the house, 
and you are not to stand about when the ground 
is wet, or stay out after four,” she said, with 


A NIGHT ON THE LEADS 75 


authority. “You can run away now, but be care- 
ful. You must have done something really silly 
to get a cold like that.” 

“Come and change the beds,” whispered 
Noreen, and the two ran up to Blue Dorm to- 
gether. 

“Look here, it’s jolly decent of you, but it 
doesn't matter about changing, really,” Joey 
blurted out. 

Noreen grinned engagingly. 

“You silly cuckoo, don’t you see I want to bag 
your tip of ‘First Bath.’ ” 

But Joey knew that wasn’t the real reason; 
she began to like Noreen. 


CHAPTER VII 


The Violet Handkerchief 

A SELECT committee consisting of Ingrid 
Latimer, Freda Martin, Joan Chichester, 
and Miss Lambton, the assistant games-mistress, 
tried the new girls for hockey that afternoon, 
playing them with a selection from the second 
hockey-team. 

Joey enjoyed herself, though she had not 
played since she was quite small and a day-girl 
at a school in Hertfordshire. Her running and 
her passing were both commended, the one by 
Ingrid and the other by Miss Lambton ; and she 
was dreadfully disappointed when, at four 
o’clock, Miss Lambton looked at her watch, and 
said something in an undertone to Ingrid. Then 
she called out : 

“Jocelyn Graham is to go indoors now. 
Change your hockey things, Jocelyn,” she added, 
“and you can ask for a book from the Lower 
School Library.” 

Of course that bothering cold! Joey thanked 
Miss Lambton, and went indoors in very low 
spirits. Now that she had been reminded of her 
76 


THE VIOLET HANDKERCHIEF 77 


cold, she felt much worse at once. Her head 
and eyes were heavy; she didn’t think she would 
ask for a book after all. She wandered up to Blue 
Dorm, and began to change very slowly, finally 
taking out a clean handkerchief from the drawer, 
and putting her handkerchief — her third that 
day — into her linen-bag. 

Something deep-toned showed at the bottom 
of her bag, under the white of her own handker- 
chiefs; of course she still had the violet silk hand- 
kerchief which she had used to dust the Lab. 
Joey decided that it would be a very good thing 
to wash it, here and now, while she had the time. 
She plunged her arm into the linen-bag and drew 
it out. What a good thing she had needed an- 
other handkerchief, or it would probably have 
gone to the wash with her other things, and the 
Professor would have had to wait till the laundry 
returned it. Joey dashed into the bathroom with 
the violet handkerchief, turned on some moder- 
ately hot water, and began to scrub with vigour. 
She got the dirt off fairly well, to judge by the 
extraordinarily black conditon of the bath ; if she 
could only dry it, it might be possible to return it 
to the Lab this very evening. Joey didn’t like 
to think of the Professor wanting his handker- 
chief and thinking of her as a thief as well as a 
most interfering schoolgirl. 

But how was she to dry that handkerchief? 


78 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Hung out over a chair in the Blue Dorm it would 
certainly take all night. The late September 
sun was near its setting; she couldn’t dry it on 
the window ledge, that was quite certain. If only 
Gabrielle had been about, or even Noreen, she 
might perhaps have asked whether it was allow- 
able to go down to the kitchens to find a fire. Al- 
ready in the twenty-four hours she had spent at 
Redlands she had learnt there were several things 
not allowed which would have been the ordinary 
sort of thing to do at Calgarloch — and Father 
had always been particular about obedience. But 
both were playing hockey, and Joey was still 
cautious about the others. Probably she would 
be had on again, if she asked strangers. 

She went down two flights of stairs, holding 
the wet handkerchief crumpled in her hand, 
and wondering what she had better do. Then 
she saw a door open, and heard a babel of small 
voices coming from behind it, and — surprising 
sight, a glow of firelight. She pushed the door 
open a very little farther, and peeped in. 

About twelve or fourteen very small girls, 
their ages rangingfrom six or seven to nine, were 
sitting in a huge half-circle round a bright fire. 
They were all talking hard, regardless of a pleas- 
ant-looking maid who was laying tea — a very 
nice tea, with plenty of bread and jam. and a 
plate of round, shiny-topped buns. 


THE VIOLET HANDKERCHIEF 79 


They all stopped chattering though, when they 
caught sight of Joey, and stared at her solemnly 
in absolute silence. Still, she couldn’t be uncom- 
fortable with people of that age, even if they 
hadn’t reminded her so much of Kirsty and 
Bingo. 

“Do you mind if I come in and dry something 
by your fire?” she asked. 

The children received the request most gra- 
ciously, scrambling aside to make room for her 
in the middle of the circle, and helping her to 
hang the handkerchief over the high nursery fen- 
der. 

“Is it your hankserchiff ?” asked a small, sol- 
emn voice, while she was spreading it out; and 
she turned round to meet the grave, dark eyes 
of the very tiniest child she had ever seen at 
school. She was about half Bingo’s size, but 
she spoke quite distinctly, except for the mis- 
pronunciation of the word handkerchief. Her 
black hair was cut square over her forehead and 
bobbed; her small, round face had very little 
colour, and except for the amount of expression 
in it and the fact that she was talking, J oey could 
almost have taken her for a French doll. 

“No, it’s not mine; it’s one I borrowed, so I 
washed it,” she explained, and then she pulled 
the tiny child upon her lap, as she sat on the 
floor. 


80 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“What’s your name, I wonder?” 

“Bertillia,” breathed the mite, pronouncing all 
the syllables quite distinctly, and looking sol- 
emnly up at Joey as she spoke. 

“But we call her Tiddles,” said a jolly-looking, 
round-faced person on Joey’s right. “At least 
the big ones did first, and we caught it off them. 
And she’s like a Tiddles, isn’t she — just a sort 
of little kitten thing you can pick up.” 

“You squeeze me when you pick me up, 
Ros-ie,” Tiddles stated. 

“How old is she?” Joey asked, cuddling 
Tiddles close, as she cuddled Bingo, when he 
allowed it — which wasn’t often. 

“Oh, she’s six — but isn’t she small — people 
think she’s only two or three,” Rosie answered. 
“She’s Belgian, you know, and Miss Conyng- 
ham has taken her ’cause she’s got nobody. Her 
mother got killed, and the one who brought her 
to England died of tiredness, poor thing — she 
had to walk and walk and carry Tiddles. She 
found her, you know ; and look what those pigly 
Germans had done to her. Show your arm, Tid- 
dles, darling.” 

Tiddles, who had listened seriously and un- 
winkingly to her mournful story, related so very 
cheerfully by Rosie, gave a funny little nod, and 
pulled up the loose sleeve of her tiny blouse. 
On the small arm was a long, deep scar. 


THE VIOLET HANDKERCHIEF 81 


“Did the Huns ?” Joey gasped. 

“Yes, though she was just a tiny baby. We’re 
never going to speak to a German again as long 
as we live,” Rosie stated firmly. “We’ve settled 
that; we shall just look the other way if we meet 
one, as though he was a bad smell. Poor Tid- 
dles!” 

Tiddles had been staring at Joey very solemn- 
ly, all the time that Joey was looking at her arm. 
Now she suddenly laid down her black head upon 
Joey’s shoulder. “I like you,” she said. 

Joey kissed the top of the little black head. 
“You’re a darling! My father was killed by the 
Germans — at least by their being such beasts to 
him and all the other wounded men. They 
put him in a cattle-truck, and it was all filth, 
and they had no water, and when the women on 
the way heard they were English they wouldn’t 
give them any, though they had heaps.” 

Joey stared through the bars of the grate, her 
eyes growing dim. “So father died, after a bit.” 

“Would you ever do anything for a German 
— except despise him?” another small girl asked 
truculently, and Joey answered: 

“No, I don’t suppose I should.” 

She scrambled up in a hurry. “Oh, my 
hanky’s singeing!” 

She was only just in time to save it, for the 
fire was really very hot. She snatched it from 


82 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


the fender and looked it over anxiously to see 
if there were any scorched places. No, there were 
none; but something rather strange caught her 
eyes in one corner ; something that came between 
the neat red lettering of the Professor’s name — 
some tiny marks that stood out oddly in bright 
yellow from the dark violet background. 

Joey stared at them for a moment in silence, 
holding the handkerchief stretched to its widest 
in her two hands. They were photographed up- 
on her mind in that moment before they faded 
and disappeared, leaving the red lettering of the 
Professor’s name alone, and the handkerchief 
bone-dry. Curious marks they were too — marks 
that looked like little dots and dashes. Joey 
wondered for a second, and then she heard Nor- 
een calling in the passage: 

“Jocelyn! Jocelyn!” 

Joey made a dash for the door, pursued by a 
chorus of “Come again, come again soon!” In 
her hurry, she thought no more about the odd- 
ness of the little marks which appeared with the 
heat and disappeared again as quickly. Noreen 
sounded good-tempered; perhaps she would re- 
turn the handkerchief to the Professor, as Joey 
herself was forbidden to go out. 

She preferred her request, breathlessly. Nor- 
een very muddy and dishevelled, answered a 
shade doubtfully. 


THE VIOLET HANDKERCHIEF 83 


“He’s always such a foaming-at-the-mouth 
sort of beast if you intrude on his blessed privacy. 
Still, I don’t mind trying if you like. He ought 
to be pleased to get back his old hanky. What 
am I to say if I see him — humblest apologies 
and all that? Righto! Stay with the kids till 
tea: we shan’t get a fire till supper-time. If I 
don’t return, look for me in a poisoned grave 
under the Lab.” 

Noreen departed. Joey went back to the 
babies for the ten minutes that remained before 
tea-time, and found that they liked stories quite 
as much as Kirsty and Bingo did. Then Matron 
came in to give them their tea, and Joey went 
down to hers. 

She did not see Noreen till the meal was over; 
but caught her up in the hall — on the way to the 
classrooms for prep. 

“So sorry, Jocelyn, after you’ve washed it 
and all, but I let that hanky drop on the way, 
and muddied it a little — not much. So I thought 
I’d better not face the Professor, but just 
chucked it in at an open window. You bet he’ll 
see it — he probably won’t know it ever left the 
floor where you found it,” she said. “So that’s 
all right, isn’t it?” 

“Thanks awfully,” Joe said, and tried to think 
it was as right as Noreen said. 


CHAPTER VIII 
The Peace-Pipe 

M ATRON was lying in wait at the door of 
Remove II. B Classroom, and pounced 
on Joey as she came out at the end of prep ex- 
plaining that she was to go to bed at once in or- 
der that her throat and chest might be rubbed 
with camphorated oil. 

Joey submitted, but unwillingly; bed two 
hours before anybody else, when she didn’t feel 
ill, only heavy, was a very depressing idea. 
However, it was clearly no case for argument. 

Matron bustled her through her bath and into 
bed, and was rubbing her with a vigour that left 
no breath for conversation on her part by the 
time the other three came in to change their 
frocks for supper. 

Joey wished very heartily that Matron had 
finished, for she had thought of some new and 
effective things to say to Syb and Barbara, in 
answer to their taunts of last night. Noreen was, 
of course, to be left out; Noreen had really been 
decent about the bed and everything, even if she 
had been the ringleader in that ragging business. 
84 


THE PEACE-PIPE 


85 


J oey meant to forgive and forget where Noreen 
was concerned; but to let Syb and Barbara have 
it hot and strong. Only she would contrive to let 
them know that she wouldn’t take all the hot 
water again. 

But of course nothing could be said or done 
while Matron was in the room. She had finished 
the rubbing now, but was pouring out a porten- 
tous dose of ammoniated quinine. On the other 
side of the room Barbara, Syb, and Noreen were 
dressing with extraordinary politeness. “Please, 
Barbara, could you hook me up?” and so on. 
They were nearly ready ; if Matron stayed much 
longer the supper bell would ring, and the op- 
portunity would be lost. 

Joey gulped the ammoniated quinine with a 
haste that brought tears to her eyes; but still 
Matron did not go. She was inspecting Joey’s 
garments with a searching eye to see that she was 
wearing enough of them. Noreen, Barbara, and 
Syb had reached the hair-ribbon stage before 
Matron had finished pointing out the need of an- 
other vest; and she was still mentioning kindly 
but firmly that it was generally a girl’s own fault 
if she caught a cold, when the bell rang, and it 
was too late. Joey could almost have cried. 

A maid brought her a strictly invalid supper 
— a cup of bread and milk and a spongecake. 
Rather unexciting. Joey made it last as long as 


86 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


possible, but that wasn’t very long. Then there 
was nothing left to do but wait till the rest came 
to bed. 

The advantage of having a window bed was 
not specially apparent just now, because there 
was no moon and the fen-world was quite dark. 
Not even the shadowy outline of the high round 
tower was to be seen. Joey lay mournfully 
in bed, and wished for a book. If the girls 
danced again after supper it would be quite nine 
o’clock before they came upstairs, and it hadn’t 
struck eight yet. More than a whole long hour 
to wait, doing nothing. And then, just as she 
was thinking that, the door of Blue Dorm 
opened, and Gabrielle put her head in. Joey 
could see her auburn hair against the light in the 
passage ; the room itself was dark, the maid hav- 
ing turned off the electric light when she took 
the supper tray. 

“Are you sleepy, Jocelyn? Or would you like 
me to come in and talk?” she asked. 

“Oh, do come in — I’m fearfully tired of bed,” 
Joey burst out — “that is, if you don’t want to 
be dancing?” 

Gabrielle shut the door, and felt her way over 
to the one occupied bed. 

“I’d rather talk ” 

Somebody rushed at the door, turned the 
handle violently, and dashed in. 


THE PEACE-PIPE 


87 


“Hullo, Jocelyn, ready for some company?” 
demanded a cheerful and familiar voice. 

Gabrielle switched on the light, and she and 
Noreen O’Hara looked at one another. 

“Oh — you’ve come to sit with Jocelyn, have 
you?” Noreen said. “Then I’d better clear out.” 

“Look here, why shouldn’t we both stay?” 
suggested Gabrielle. 

“Don’t know why we shouldn’t,” Noreen 
agreed. “Mind, Jocelyn?” 

“Rather not.” 

“Only, there’s one thing I want to say to you 
which Gabrielle can’t hear — it isn’t my secret,” 
Noreen explained hurriedly. 

“Shall I get out?” Gabrielle asked. 

“No — stick your fingers in your ears a sec, if 
you don’t mind.” 

Gabrielle obliged. 

Noreen plumped down on Joey’s bed. “It’s 
this — Syb and Barbara asked me to tell you 
they’re sorry they were such beasts to you last 
night — and they think you a sport not to have 
let on to Ingrid.” 

“Did they say that?” gasped Joey. 

“Yes, honest injun!” 

“Then I shan’t be able to say the utterly hate- 
ful things I’d thought of for to-night,” Joey 
murmured regretfully. “But I was a pig about 
the bath-water, wasn’t I?” 


88 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“You were,” Noreen agreed, with fervour. 

“Then that’s all right and square. Please tell 
them I’m sorry I took it all.” 

“Have you finished?” asked Gabrielle tragic- 
ally. “It’s giving me a pain in both my arms to 
keep them up so long.” 

Noreen pulled her arms down. “It’s all right. 
We’ve only been settling to be friends in this 
dorm. After all, it is a decent dorm; it was a 
pity to fight in it.” 

“It’s got the best places for photos of any,” 
Gabrielle said, walking round, and looking at 
Joey’s collection in a very friendly way. “May 
I take them down and look? I say, what a darl- 
ing little thing in socks. Is he your brother?” 

“Yes — he’s Bingo — his proper name is Bevil, 
but of course we couldn’t call him a thing like 
that, poor kid,” J oey explained, quite cheerfully. 
“He is pretty, isn’t he? An artist came along 
and painted him last year — and he was in the 
Academy. He did him hugging a German 
helmet Father brought back — and just in his 
everyday things, so Bingo was pleased. He was 
looking up as if someone out of the picture was 
telling him something he wasn’t going to lose a 
word of. The artist put some Latin under the 
picture — it meant ‘Our fathers have told us.’ ” 

Noreen had been staring open-mouthed all 
through the narrative. 



“have you finished?” asked gabrielle 




































































































THE PEACE-PIPE 


89 


“But — but — you said that the kid was the 
gravedigger’s youngest,” she broke out. 

“So I did,” Joey agreed calmly. 

“And he isn’t?” 

“Did you suppose all the having on was going 
to be upon one side?” Joey inquired succinctly. 
“Besides I thought you’d all like it better that 
way.” 

“Then isn’t the big one the butcher’s boy?” 

“No, he’s my brother Gavin.” 

Noreen became rather red. “I say, did you 
happen to hear what we said — in the train?” she 
stammered. 

“About the village school, and letting down 
Redlands by my coming?” Joey answered. 
“Yes, I did. I couldn’t help it, you did talk so 
fearfully loud,” she added. 

“We didn’t mean you to hear,” Noreen said 
miserably. 

Joey grinned. “It doesn’t matter if I did. 1 
don’t care. It was a very jolly village school.” 

“I’m sure it must have been,” Noreen said 
heartily. 

“Look here,” interrupted Gabrielle. “What 
on earth does' it matter what sort of school Joce- 
lyn went to? It was pretty poor in Redlanders 
even to talk as if it mattered.” 

“It was,” owned Noreen, with a meekness that 


90 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


surprised Joey, considering that she was quite 
half a head taller than Gabrielle. 

“But Noreen started being awfully decent to 
me last night, when she still thought all my pho- 
tos were — what I said they were,” Joey chimed 
in, in a hurry. “So I don’t mind. We went to 
the village school because Father died in the 
war, you know, and Mums is frightfully poor; 
and if the other Redlanders don’t like it — well, 
they needn’t! But I’m glad to be friends with 
Blue Dorm — at least not enemies, you know — 
that sort of friends.” 

“I want you to be real friends, Jocelyn — the 
proper kind, if you’ll be it with me as well as 
Gabrielle,” Noreen explained in a hurry. “I 
wanted to last night.” 

“All right,” said Joey. “I think I’d like to 
be friends too.” 

“And we must find a name for you,” sug- 
gested Gabrielle. “Jocelyn is awfully nice, but 
the others will think about you as the scholarship 
kid they ragged, if you stick to it; you want 
some handy little name — that will make you seem 
like another girl; and we’ll all start fresh.” 

“They call me ‘Joey’ at home,” Joey answered, 
after a moment’s consideration. She knew there 
was a great deal in what Gabrielle said about the 
name — Jocelyn Graham had not made a very 
popular start, 


THE PEACE-PIPE 


91 


“Joey — top-hole !” Noreen cried. “You’re 
much more like a boy than a girl ; that suits you 
down to the ground.” 

And as ‘Joey’ she was presented to the rather 
embarrassed Svb and Barbara when they came 
up to bed, armed with a sticky bag of toffee — 
in large lumps of which luxury the occupants of 
Blue Dorm smoked the peace-pipe forthwith. 


CHAPTER IX 


“Maddy” 

R EMOVE II. B had French for first lesson 
next morning; Joey was informed of the 
fact during getting-up-time next morning by an 
almost aggressively friendly Sybil, Barbara, and 
Noreen. 

“Who takes us?” Joey asked, a little nervous- 
ly. French was by no means her strong point. 

“Maddy, of course — Mademoiselle de Laver- 
nais.” 

“What’s she like?” 

Noreen screwed up her face. “Awfully old 
and dried up, and a sort of front thing on her 
head in tight curls.” 

“Can’t think why Miss Conyngham doesn’t 
have somebody younger,” Syb chimed in. “No 
one else is really old at the Coll. I bet Maddy’s 
sixty if she’s a day.” 

“More,” Barbara suggested. “Look at her 
wrinkles. She ought to be pensioned off or some- 
thing; I should think she jolly well deserves it 
— she’s been here more than twenty years some- 
one told me.” 


92 


“MADDY 


93 


"Is she nice?” asked Joey, thinking anxiously 
of irregular verbs and elusive idioms. 

“Nice! — you wait till you go a howler in form!” 

“Having me on?” demanded Joey, with in- 
stant suspicion. 

“No, you stupid; can’t you see when we’re talk- 
ing sense?” Noreen said. “I ought to know; I’m 
always in her black books. She simply can’t 
bear me.” 

“Says Noreen doesn’t think or something,” 
Syb contributed. 

“As if anyone could be bothered to think right 
through a stuffy French conversation class.” 

“What?” shrieked Joey. “It isn’t French con- 
versation, is it?” 

“Isn’t it just? — Maddy says heaps of girls 
can write French decently, but hardly anyone 
can speak it; so every Wednesday morning Re- 
move II. B has the treat — I don’t think! — of 
conversing with her in French, and you mayn’t 
just say, ‘II phut / or something like that, and 
then dry up; you’ve got to converse, and she 
goes on till she drags it out of you.” 

“Does everyone?” asked Joey, palpitating. 

“She picks the girls. Pretty sure to go for 
you as you’re new. She’ll want to know what 
your French is like.” 

“She won’t take long to find out that it’s ut- 


94 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


terly hopeless,” Joey remarked, hunting for her 
shoes, which had gone under the bed. 

“I say! wouldn’t it be rather a rag to put 
Jocelyn — Joey, I mean — up to some perfectly 
awful French that would take half the lesson to 
correct?” suggested Noreen, of the fertile brain. 
“Then we'd get a rest.” 

“Brainy plan,” approved Barbara. “But 
would you mind, Joey? You can’t get into a 
row, you see, because she can’t know if you really 
know any French or not; she’ll only just point 
out to you where you’re wrong, in the kind of 
tone which implies that they wouldn’t keep idiots 
of your kind in France at any price, and you’ll 
have to say, ‘ Merci bien / or is it € . Beaucoup *% — 
I never can remember which — and ‘Je com - 
pr ends' , or is it ‘C'est comprenne ? — one does get 
out in the hols! — at proper intervals, and look in- 
telligent ” 

“Never mind if it’s a bit of a strain,” Noreen 
contributed, and Joey, having a shoe all ready 
in her hand, not unnaturally hurled it at the 
speaker. Noreen dodged, and it got the window, 
and made a huge star. 

“My Sunday hat and Dublin Castle!” Noreen 
exclaimed, craning round from her seat on the 
bed to examine the mischief. “You’ve gone and 
done it now, Joey — at least it was most my fault 
really. I’ll tell Matron that.” 


MADDY” 


95 


“Rot! I threw the shoe,” Joey said, rather 
dismayed. “I don’t mind about Matron; she 
can’t do much worse than the ghastly stuff she’s 
been giving me — at least I hope she doesn’t stop 
the beastly window out of my pocket-money?” 

“No; they don’t do that sort of thing here,” 
Noreen said. “They just hold forth, and tell 
you carelessness is a sort of dishonesty and that 
sort of thing. You’ll have to say you’re sorry.” 

“Well, I am.” 

“And Matron will point out you’ve behaved 
like a kindergarten kid, and if she were Tiddles 
she wouldn’t be surprised at your wanting to 
throw your shoes about. Comprenny?” 

“Righto — I shall stick it,” Joey assured her. 

“They don’t nag here — much,” added the ex- 
perienced Noreen for her comfort; “when you’ve 
been jawed or punished or both, it’s over and 
done with. What about the French? Think 
you could do anything?” 

“I might try,” Joey said, with caution. 

“But there won’t be time now to put her up 
to it all,” objected Barbara. “Why didn’t we 
think of it earlier?” 

“Why not let Joey, as she’s new, try it on 
some other way?” put in Noreen. “Ask Maddv 
something that means a long screed in answer. 
Oh yes, I know she squashed me flat for doing 
it, but that was ages back, and she knew me and 


96 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


my reputation. Now here’s a nice, innocent, and 
probably good, new girl.” 

“Don’t call me names!” interrupted Joey. 

“I said probably; well, try and turn Maddy 
on, in all innocence and ignorance, my child, and 
the Form will love you for evermore. We are 
always absolutely stuck for subjects the first 
French day of term.” 

The prayer-bell rang insistently. “What 
would she like to talk about, do you think?” asked 
Joey desperately, catching at Noreen’s sleeve; 
“the War?” 

“Try the Franco-German affair ; she was prob- 
ably a blushing thing in a crinoline about that 
time — she’ll enjoy telling us about it if we can 
only get her started.” 

“I’ll try,” Joey said valiantly and breath- 
lessly upon the stairs, and she worried out the 
French for her request during breakfast. 

Maddy met Remove II. B at nine o’clock 
precisely. Joey watched her mount the dais with 
a sinking heart. She was a little lady, who made 
no pretence of being anything but elderly, with 
a dried-up skin that pouched under her black 
eyes, and the rather dusty “front” upon which 
the girls had commented did not match the hair 
at the back of her small well-set head. She was 
shabbily dressed, and all the little air of distinc- 
tion with which she wore her clothes could not 


“MADDY” 97 

make them becoming. Joey decided that she 
should not like Mademoiselle de Lavernais. 

Mademoiselle wasted no time in preliminaries. 
She said “Good-morning” to her class in clear, 
ringing accents, and they responded very prop- 
erly. Then the real business began. In rapid 
French she mentioned that she hoped to hear 
much interesting conversation from the Form 
this morning, and — “Barbara, we should all like 
to learn your opinion on the Channel Tunnel.” 

Barbara became pink. “Je crois — bien — que 
c’est une bonne chose pour lesquels qui souffre 
de mal de mer,” she blundered unhappily. 

Mademoiselle threw up her hands in horror. 

“Is it that I am taking the babies of the kinder- 
garten?” she inquired. “How often am I to 
tell you that you nefare, nefare translate literally 
from the English idiom to the French. Noreen, 
let me hear you.” 

Noreen cast an agonised appeal on Joey. 
“What I think about the Channel Tunnel, 
Mademoiselle?” she asked. 

“En Fran9ais, si’l vous plait, mon enfant.” 

Noreen stared wildly around her for inspira- 
tion. “Je pense — je pense ” 

“Continuez,” said Mademoiselle inexorably. 

“Je pense — que je n’ai pas des pensees sur le 
sujet — encore,” poor Noreen informed her miser- 
ably. 


98 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“Fourteen years old, and without a thought 
on a subject so concerning the welfare of your 
great nation,” Mademoiselle said, with slow 
scorn. “It is a pity almost that you have a 
nation, Noreen. You should belong to some 
miserable little German State, where la patrie 
is represented by the gendarme with his big fist, 
and the tax-collector. Find another subject that 
you can talk of — some of those that figure in the 
paper during your silly season will suit you well, 
I make no doubt.” 

Noreen, scarlet about the ears, was obviously 
tmable to find a subject at all. Perhaps it was 
not wonderful! Joey, burning with resentment 
for her friend, rushed into the breach. 

“II serait tres” — she tried to think of the 
word for improving, but failing to see even a 
glimpse of it, unfortunately substituted “amn- 
sante, si vous voulez dire a nous l’histoire d’une 
chose ou deux que vous avez vue pendant la 
guerre de soixante-dix quand les allemands et 
les fran9ais. ...” 

Mademoiselle swung round upon the dais and 
looked hard at Joey, standing up in her place, 
rather frightened and very floundering about 
the French, but sturdily determined to go 
through with the business she had undertaken. 
Mademoiselle heard her out, with no comment 
bad or good till she reached the word “fran9ais,” 


“MADDY” 


99 


then suddenly her heavy black eyes gave a great 
flash. 

“You are, I think, a new girl, and therefore 
scarcely know, perhaps, how great an imperti- 
nence you commit,” she said very quietly, but in 
a voice that was more dreadful than if she had 
screamed. “But any girl that is worthy of the 
name of English should understand that to ask 
a Frenchwoman, who has seen and remembers, 
to amuse her with stories of the time when France 
was trodden in the dust by swine , is to make 
an insult that can nefare be forgotten. Leave 
the classroom ; I will not teach such a girl. Sybil, 
impart to me your views on the best length for 
summer holidays — perhaps that will not be be- 
yond your range of intellect.” 

Joey heard no more; somehow she reached the 
door and stumbled out, feeling so indelibly dis- 
graced that she had serious thoughts of taking 
the next train home. Now she came to think about 
it, it was a hopeless thing that she had said ; how 
would she have liked it if the girls had asked her, 
Joey, to tell them a funny story about prisoners 
of war in German hands. Of course they were 
the same Germans — at least the fathers of the 
horrible Huns who had tortured the wounded 
and prisoners, and hurt little children like Tid- 
dles. And Joey had used that word amusante, 
when Mademoiselle remembered things — per- 


100 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


haps as bad as the things which Mums had never 
wished the children to read in the newspapers. 

“If I knew more French I shouldn’t have put 
it so horribly” poor Joey said to herself; but it 
didn’t occur to her to blame Noreen and Syb 
and Barbara who had suggested this unfortu- 
nate plan in the first instance. She wandered up 
and down the passage in a kind of frenzy; she 
would have to go home, but honour demanded 
one should first wipe the floor with oneself be- 
fore the outraged Maddy. 

Joey thought no French lesson could ever have 
been half so long; she couldn’t go away from that 
rather dreary and viewless passage, because she 
might miss Maddy when she came out. The tem- 
porary mistress who was taking Miss Craigie’s 
place would go to the classroom as soon as Mad- 
dy had finished; that was all Joey knew. 

At last there were steps along the passage, 
but it was the Senior Prefect who came in sight. 
She had a little three-cornered note in her hand, 
and was evidently in a hurry. 

“Is Mademoiselle still with Remove II. B?” 
she asked briskly, and then as Joey murmured 
“Yes,” she looked at her. 

“It’s the scholarship kid, isn’t it? But why 
aren’t you in class?” 

“I was turned out,” Joey mentioned in a low 
voice. 


“MADDY” 


101 


“Then you must have been behaving like a 
young silly/’ Ingrid told her crushingly; and 
then perhaps she saw the utter misery in Joey’s 
face. 

“But there’s no need to be so tragic about it 
— do you suppose you’re the only girl who has 
ever been turned out of a classroom? Tell 
Mademoiselle you’re sorry and won’t do it again 
— and don’t do it again, that’s all!” 

With which excellent advice the Senior Prefect 
knocked at the classroom door, and went in with 
her note, leaving Joey outside to wonder miser- 
ably if Ingrid would condescend to speak to her 
at all if she knew. 

Ingrid came out, and passed Joey with a good- 
natured nod. A minute later there were other 
steps in the passage, and the temporary mathe- 
matical mistress, rather blown about from a long 
bicycle ride on a windy day, hurried down to- 
wards the classroom, nervously afraid of being 
late. 

“Do you know whether Mademoiselle de 
Lavernais has come out yet?” she asked. 

“No, she hasn’t.” 

“Are you waiting for my class? Are you in 
Remove II. B by the way?” the mistress said. 

Joey foresaw rocks and shoals. “I’m so new 
I don’t know what I’m to take and what I’m 
not,” she temporised. 


102 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“Well, come in with me and we’ll see. The 
other girls will know,” suggested the mistress. 
She laid a friendly hand on Joey’s shoulder. 
Joey wriggled away, with a deplorable lack of 
manners, and bolted up the passage, as far as 
the row of little music-rooms, with their double 
doors. She couldn’t let herself be dragged into 
a maths class without at least trying to make 
Mademoiselle see that she had not meant to he 
as horribly unfeeling as she had sounded. 

A door opened and shut: steps — rather tired, 
halting steps — came towards her. J oey screwed 
up her courage, and made a desperate plunge in 
the direction of the small, black, shapeless figure 
advancing towards her reading a note. 

“Do you mind if I say it in English, because 
it is frightfully hard to say what you want in 
French,” she blurted out. “I know I was un- 
speakable, hut I didn’t mean it truly, and I 
couldn’t think of any French word except amu- 
sante, truthfully — French is such a slippy lan- 
guage when you’re trying to talk. I didn’t mean 
the Franco-German business could be funny — 
and my Father was killed in this war!” 

Mademoiselle de Lavernais had stopped read- 
ing her note when Joey began to speak, but she 
said nothing at all till Joey had finished. Her 
black eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Joey’s 
face, so fixedly that Joey wondered vaguely 


“MADDY” 


103 


through all her misery if she had an ink smudge 
there. 

Mademoiselle suddenly laid a hand on her 
shoulder, and drew her into one of the little 
music-rooms. 

“For me perhaps also the words I used said 
what I did not altogether mean,” she said slowly, 
“though I have not your excuse, my child, of 
finding your language ‘slippy/ having been in 
this country since I was more young than you. I 
think I was not just to say you were not English, 
because you did not understand.” 

“Thank you awfully,” Joey murmured. 

“And your father has died for his country?” 
Mademoiselle went on. “Mine died when I was 
more young than you, but that was of a broken 
heart.” 

“Because of the Germans winning?” Joey ven- 
tured. 

“My home was in Alsace,” said Mademoiselle. 
“You — how would you have felt if the great 
Foch, the great Haig, and the great Americans 
had not conquered with the help of God, and 
your home had been handed over to the Hun.” 

“I don’t know,” Joey said. It was unthink- 
able. 

“You don’t know; you are fortunate. I had 
to know. But that is over, thank God ; we have 
waited almost fifty years, but it is over.” 


104 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Mademoiselle de Lavernais seemed to have 
forgotten her, Joey thought; her dull black eyes 
had lit up — her plain, tired face was quite trans- 
formed. Joey wondered whether she ought to 
slip out and go to the maths mistress — another 
apology would certainly be needed there. For- 
tunately, Mademoiselle came back to earth in a 
minute. “But what do I talk of? We should 
both be at our classrooms, you, I fear, will be in 
trouble in that you are late. My class will merely 
rejoice that cross old Maddy has given them a 
little longer of liberty to chatter in English. 
Should you not be at mathematics? Come with 
me. 

She put her hand again on Joey’s shoulder, 
and they went down the passage to Classroom 
Remove II. B together. Mademoiselle knocked 
and went in. 

“Miss Musgrave, you will of your kindness, 
I hope, forgive the lateness of this pupil, who 
was detained by me not by her fault,” she said. 
“The blame is all mine; I make you the apolo- 
gies.” 

“Oh, of course; that is all right, Mademoi- 
selle,” Miss Musgrave said nervously. “Take 
your place, please; what is your name?” 

“Jocelyn.” 

“Take your place, Jocelyn.” 

Joey couldn’t thank Mademoiselle in the mid- 


MADDY 5 


105 


die of a class, but the look she gave her was elo- 
quent enough. Mademoiselle smiled back, before 
she bowed to Miss Musgrave and departed to her 
own class. 

Remove II. B discussed the extraordinary in- 
cident of that smile all through the interval for 
milk and buns, three-quarters of an hour later. 


CHAPTER X 


A Sunday Out 


OUSIN GRETA was as good or as bad 



as her word; Joey wasn’t quite sure which 
way to look at it. On that first Sunday morn- 
ing, while she, with the twenty other girls at Miss 
Lambton’s table, was enjoying the Sunday luxu- 
ry of late breakfast and hot sausages, a note was 
brought to Miss Lambton. 

“Jocelyn Graham,” she called. 

Joey stood up. 

“Miss Conyngham has sent to say that re- 
lations are coming to take you out. They will 
be here at 12.30. Go to the drawing-room when 
you come out of chapel.” 

“Yes, Miss Lambton.” 

Joey sat down, and went on with her sausages. 
She felt rather depressed; the only cheering part 
of the business was that by going out she would 
probably escape that unknown horror of saying 
her Collect, Epistle, and Gospel, and being ques- 
tioned on them. 

Noreen was sitting two places away. “What 
are they? Aunts, uncles, or what? Are they 


A SUNDAY OUT 


107 


good for chocolates, or will they point out that 
those are still four shillings a pound, and school- 
girls should be thankful for bread and margar- 
ine !” 

“I expect the relation is my Cousin Greta, and 
she always used to bring us chocolates,” Joey 
answered. 

“Don’t eat them all on the way home. Think 
of your precious health, my che-ild,” cried half 
a dozen imploring voices. 

Joey could take chaff better now; besides, the 
antipathy of the Redlanders to her village school 
had died a natural and speedy death. 

“P’r’aps I’d better think of yours,” she said. 

“You little beast!” muttered Noreen, but rath- 
er inaudibly, “beast” being one of the expres- 
sions that even easy-going Miss Lainbton did 
not pass at table. 

There was a walk before chapel on Sundays, 
if weather allowed; Joey paired off with Gabri- 
elle on this occasion, and found her sympathetic 
over the outing. 

“It’s always decent going out when you’re at 
school, even if it’s to the stuffiest people,” she 
explained. “It’s different, you know — that’s it 
partly. There was a girl here — she’s left now — 
whose only relation handy was a great-aunt who 
was quite deaf and almost blind, and rather child- 
ish too, poor thing. And there was nothing 


108 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


whatever for Chrissie to do at her house but play 
with the cat, and no books except Laneton Par- 
sonage and The Fairchild Family . But Chrissie 
liked going all the same; you see, she could tell 
the other girls she had a good time when she 
came back, and that was something.” 

“Yes, I suppose that would be something,” 
Joey agreed, and went to get ready for chapel 
in much better spirits. 

Redlands Chapel was very beautiful. Later 
on Joey came to know much of its story: that 
the wonderful black chancel screen had been res- 
cued by a girl’s father from an old barn on his 
estate, and went back to the stormy times of Hen- 
ry vm/s devastating war upon the monasteries; 
that the beautiful reredos had been carved by an 
old pupil of the College who had gone out into 
the world to find fame. Three of the windows 
came from a little private chapel near by, and 
had suffered at the hands of Cromwell’s Fifth 
Monarchy men. 

She stood and knelt in her place about half- 
way down the aisle, feeling it all very strange 
after the plain little “Established” service at 
Calgarloch, where Mr. Craigie preached for an 
hour on end, and brought sweeties to Kirsty and 
Bingo in the afternoon if they had not fidgeted. 

Joey liked the service, though she didn’t know 
what singing could be till the second hymn; the 


A SUNDAY OUT 


109 


College always refusing to throw any enthusiasm 
into the strains of 


Lord, behold us with Thy blessing, 

Once again assembled here. 

But with the second — “Onward! Christian 
Soldiers,” the six hundred Redlanders fairly let 
go, swamping choir and organ. Joey found that 
she enjoyed that hymn. It is a wonderful 
feeling to join in with that crowd. She for- 
got that she had been rather lonely, in a pew full 
of strangers, with Gabrielle and Noreen both 
far away from her in the choir. 

When the service was over she went, as or- 
dered, straight to Miss Conyngham’s room, where 
she found Cousin .Greta — tall, thin, grey-haired, 
and distinguished-looking — conversing with Miss 
Conyngham. 

Joey offered a cheek to her relative with ex- 
emplary politeness. Cousin Greta kissed her and 
then held her at arm’s length, looking at her 
critically. 

“My dear child, what a beanstalk for only 
thirteen! But height runs in the family,” she 
added to Miss Conyngham; “my cousin, this 
child’s father, was six foot two.” 

“Mums is tall as well,” Joey put in aggres- 
sively. 


110 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“Yes, I suppose she is,” agreed Cousin Greta, 
without interest. “Are you ready to come, J oey ? 
I will bring her back — did you say in time for 
evening chapel — 6.30? Very good, Miss Con- 
yngham.” 

Cousin Greta and the Head shook hands, and 
Cousin Greta laid beautifully gloved fingers on 
Joey’s shoulders, and walked her out in the wake 
of the perfect parlour-maid to the front door, 
where her Daimler was waiting. 

Joey tried to look riotously happy, not so 
much, it is to be feared, from motives of polite- 
ness, as because she wanted to impress the other 
girls standing about in little groups near the 
entrance. She even waved condescendingly to 
one of the two big girls who had sat beside her 
at that first breakfast and taken so little notice 
of her presence. The senior tried to put her in 
her place by not returning the wave, but Joey 
knew they were envious, all the same. Of course, 
they couldn’t know what a stupid sort of outing 
she was really going to have. 

“And how do you like Redlands?” asked 
Cousin Greta, as the car slid smoothly down the 
drive. 

“Oh, all right,” Joey answered, still with cau- 
tion. 

“Have you made many friends yet?” 

“Not whole ones — sort of half.” 


A SUNDAY OUT 


111 


“What do you mean?” 

“Oh, I like some of the girls,” Joey said, get- 
ting red; “but that isn’t being proper friends, 
is it?” 

Cousin Greta “didn’t know.” Joey thought 
she had been an idiot to try and answer that 
question so truthfully. She might have realised 
that Cousin Greta wouldn’t be likely to under- 
stand, and for the next ten minutes she patiently 
answered questions as to the health of Mums, the 
boys, and Kirsty, her own place in Form, and 
such-like. She also told Cousin Greta all that 
she thought Cousin Greta would like to know: 
what his late Headmaster had said about Gavin ; 
the good place Ronnie had taken; Bingo’s funny 
comment when the schoolmaster tried to teach 
him the first declension. 

“I’m sure God didn’t make this language the 
same time as He made nice fings like elephants.” 

“Your father’s boys would have brains,” said 
Cousin Greta approvingly. 

“Father always said Mums had twice his,” 
Joey fired out, getting hot and angry. 

“Your father was very modest,” Cousin Greta 
said, but she sighed. It occurred to Joey that 
perhaps Cousin Greta disliked the day together 
quite as much as she herself did. She made an 
effort to be pleasant; perhaps, after all, Cousin 


112 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Greta didn’t mean to slight Mums; it was only 
her stupid way of talking. 

“Do tell me about Father when he was a little 
boy,” she asked. 

“If you peep at the glass in my room when we 
come to Mote House you will know just what he 
looked like,” Lady Greta told her more cheer- 
fully. 

Joey stared. “Am I like him? I never knew 
that.” 

“I see the likeness,” Cousin Greta said, and 
was silent for a little while the car flew along 
the straight marsh road at a most exhilarating 
pace. 

“I suppose your mother never heard anything 
more after the letter from that fellow-prisoner, 
which she sent me?” she asked at last. 

“No, nothing; though Mums wrote and wrote, 
and went to meet the batch of prisoners from 
Wilhelmgradt after the Armistice, and Uncle 
Staff went on going to the War Office.” 

“It was a great blow to us all,” said Lady 
Greta. 

J oey bit back the remark that it was worst for 
Mums ; after all, Mums wouldn’t have liked her 
to say it. There was a little silence. 

“Grade is looking forward to seeing you,” 
Cousin Greta went on at last. “Let me see, she 


A SUNDAY OUT 


113 


is just two years older than you are, I suppose.” 

“She doesn’t go to school, does she?” 

“No, I am afraid I am not quite a believer in 
school for girls. Besides, she has such a delight- 
ful governess, Miss Richards.” 

Joey supposed “How nice for her” was the 
proper thing to say, and said it; and that remark 
brought them to Mote Court. 

Gracie met them at the door, a pretty but 
delicate-looking girl, very beautifully dressed. 
When Joey shook hands with her she suddenly 
realised that her own stockings were darned in 
the leg, where the darn showed a good deal. 

However, Gracie was quite polite, and carried 
her guest off to her own room to take off her 
coat and hat and wash her hands for luncheon, 
and then to the schoolroom, where Miss Richards 
was sitting, playing Halma with a spare, freckled 
boy who was lying on the sofa, covered with a 
rug. 

Gracie introduced Miss Richards, and then the 
boy as “My Cousin John.” 

Joey liked the look of John, though his best 
friends couldn’t have called him anything but 
plain. But he had a pleasant and companionable 
grin, and a much more vigorous way of shaking 
hands than either Gracie or Miss Richards. 

“We had better put away the Halma men, 
John,” said Miss Richards. “The luncheon gong 


114 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


will go directly, and you will like to talk to 
Grade’s little friend.” 

Joey wriggled inwardly at this description, but 
went and sat down by John’s sofa. Anyhow, he 
looked easier to talk to than Grade. “I didn’t 
know you lived here,” she said. 

“I don’t,” John told her. “But I had a smash- 
up, you see, and Aunt Greta asked me here to 
get fit again!” 

“John is in the Navy,” Gracie explained. 
“He’s a middy on the . . 

“A snotty,” corrected John in a warning 
growl. “You’re at school here, aren’t you?” he 
added, turning to Joey. 

“I’m at Redlands.” 

“That’s the big place out beyond the Round 
Tower?” 

“Yes. I say, do you know anything about the 
tower?” Joey asked breathlessly. 

“Aunt Greta’s the one to ask — she lives here. 
Why? Are you specially keen on towers?” 

“Joey comes from Scotland,” Gracie said, as 
though a tower were an unknown spectacle in 
the north. 

Joey was just going to explain that what spe- 
cially interested her was not so much the tower 
as the queer lights that came from it, when the 
gong for luncheon sounded with a roar, and 
Gracie got up. 


A SUNDAY OUT 


115 


“Come along, Joey. John has his lunch up 
here.” 

Rather dull for John, Joey thought, as she 
followed her cousin obediently along corridors 
and downstairs to the dining-room. She would 
have liked to ask about him, and whether he 
would soon be better, but was afraid of seeming 
inquisitive, so left Grade and Miss Richards to 
make polite conversation. 

In the dining-room she was presented to 
Colonel Sturt, who was bald and rather morose, 
and gave her two fingers only when she shook 
hands. Then Cousin Greta motioned Joey to 
a chair on her own right, and luncheon began. 

It was a very grand luncheon ; mindful of what 
Gabrielle had said, Joey stored up an exact de- 
scription of the mayonnaise and roast chickens, 
the cold sirloin and wonderful salad, the trifle, 
meringues and apricot- jam tartlets; they at least 
would be something to tell the girls about. 

Cousin Greta saw to it that Joey made an ex- 
cellent meal, but it was certainly a dull one. 
Colonel Sturt was upset by something he had 
read in his paper about Germans creeping back 
into the country; and Grade was almost as ob- 
viously annoyed by her mother’s refusal to let 
her do something or other that she wanted that 
afternoon. She did talk to Joey a little, but the 
two years between them seemed to make an im- 


116 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


possible gulf, Joey thought. It was really rather 
a comfort when the long, grand luncheon was 
over, even though Cousin Greta swept Joey off 
to her own room for “a little talk” — rather an 
alarming suggestion. 

Cousin Greta’s room was a world of looking- 
glasses; Joey saw her own slim self reflected 
everywhere — a self who looked oddly spruce and 
tidy in the dark green velveteen best frock of 
Redlands, and with her mass of fair hair tied 
neatly back with a dark green bow. Her brown 
eyes under black lashes looked rather seriously 
back at this new tidy self reflected. 

Cousin Greta came behind Joey and laid two 
hands on her shoulders. 

“And now, barring the clothes, you know how 
your dear father used to look when he came to 
us for his holidays,” she said, and Joey felt sorry 
for Cousin Greta suddenly, and as though she 
were minding a good deal about Father under 
all her cold, languid ways. 

“I’m glad I’m like,” she said, “though he 
wanted us all to be like Mums. But I’ll never 
be anything like him in splendidness, worse luck ; 
now the war is over, there isn’t even a chance of 
serving your country.” 

Cousin Greta shivered. “My dear child, don’t 
talk as though you were sorry this ghastly war 
is over!” which was one of the speeches that set 


A SUNDAY OUT 117 

Joey’s teeth on edge, and were impossible to 
answer. 

She said no more, and Cousin Greta took a 
tremendous box of chocolates from the chest of 
drawers and told Joey she was to take them back 
with her to school. Then she mentioned that she 
always rested for an hour after luncheon, and did 
Joey think she could find her way back to the 
schoolroom, where she would find Grade? Joey 
thanked Cousin Greta, and was sure she could, 
and in due course, and after taking two or three 
wrong turnings, she found herself back at the 
schoolroom door. 

She heard no sound of voices ; it did not sound 
as though anybody were inside, and sure enough 
when she opened the door she found nobody in 
the room but John. 

He grinned at her in a friendly fashion. 
“Where’s Grade?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Joey said. She took some 
credit to herself for not adding, “I don’t care.” 

John laughed. “Well, come and talk to me 
till she comes along.” 

Joey established herself on a chair by his sofa. 
“What do you do when you’re a snotty?” she 
asked. “We know more about the Army, you 
see.” 

“Keep a look out when the deck’s all ice, 
mostly,” John said. “Of course, sometimes there 


118 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


was a scrap — not half often enough, though — 
and when you get your signal you’ve to be jolly 
quick or the other chap snaffles it all!” 

“How do you signal?” Joey asked. 

“Wireless mostly. Of course you have to 
know all kinds of signals. Can you read Morse?” 

“No, I can’t.” 

“I’ll teach you — it’s as easy as winking.” 

And John kept his word. Joey was fairly safe 
on the Morse alphabet in half an hour, and felt 
immensely pleased with herself. She was only 
too delighted that Gracie stayed away so long; 
she was beginning to enjoy herself for the first 
time that day. 

John directed her to a table-drawer, where 
there was an electric torch and a whistle ; he took 
the torch and she the whistle ; and she went over 
to the window to make her first attempt at “send- 
ing” in Morse. She boggled rather over it, and 
had to be prompted in two or three letters; but 
John was encouraging, and assured her she was 
picking it up very quickly. Then he proceeded 
to reply, very slowly, with long and short flashes 
from the electric torch. Directly he began Joey 
knew of what it reminded her — the curious blue 
flashes she had seen from the leads on that first 
night she was at school. 

She meant to ask John about them after he 


A SUNDAY OUT 


119 


had finished his Morse sentence — just now that 
needed all her concentration. 

“Long, short, long, short,” she spelt out. C — 
is that right, J ohn ? Short — long — don’t tell me ! 
I know. A — long — short — oh, that’s the oppo- 
site! — don’t tell me — N.” 

“Right — group,” said John. “Ready for next 
word?” 

He flashed, “Short, long — long— long,” Joey 
almost shrieked in her excitement. It was a let- 
ter like that she had seen in the rainy darkness 
from the leads. 

“J,” she spelt, and then she felt she must tell 
John about that light without waiting for the 
slow, laborious spelling out of the next word. 
She was just going to speak, but she had to see 
what the next letter was, and in that instant she 
was seeing, Gracie spoke under the widely 
opened window. Grade’s voice was very clear, 
and every syllable came quite distinctly up to 
Joey at the window. 

“Yes; I’m awfully annoyed about it, Eleanor, 
but I can’t get mother to see reason. I suppose 
she feels she ought to be nice to this child, who is 
a sort of cousin; but it couldn’t have hurt her to 
go back an hour or two earlier and leave the car 
free for me, at the time I want it. As it is, 
mother says she isn’t going to send the little nui- 
sance back till half-past six.” 


120 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“What a shame! I should strike at small 
schoolgirl cousins who have to be kept all day, 
and sent back in the car.” 

That was another voice, evidently the voice of 
the girl to whom Gracie was talking. Joey for- 
got all about Morse, and faced John with hot 
cheeks. 

“I won’t do any more signalling, I think; 
thanks no end for teaching me,” she said. “I’ll 
go and find Miss Richards, or someone.” 

John held out a thin, scarred hand. “I say, 
don’t you worry about Gracie,” he growled. 
“Shocking bad form to talk like that, but she 
doesn’t mean it.” 

“I don’t want to be sent back in the car,” poor 
Joey burst out. “It’s only six miles — who wants 
a car?” 

She stopped. It wasn’t possible to tell John, 
who was Gracie’s cousin, that what hurt so much 
in the speech was the sense that they all thought 
her a nuisance who must be entertained as a duty. 
Perhaps John had really been finding her a nui- 
sance too, when he taught her signalling. Joey’s 
one thought was to get away from all. 

“Thanks awfully for being so nice to me,” she 
said, “but I’ll go now, if you don’t mind.” 

“Here, wait a bit,” John urged; but Joey was 
already through the door and out in the passage. 
She would say good-bye and thank you to 


A SUNDAY OUT 


121 


Cousin .Greta, and ask if she might walk home, 
as it was such a lovely afternoon. 

But then poor Joey remembered that Cousin 
Greta was lying down and must not be disturbed. 
What could she do? 

Joey suddenly entertained the quite reprehen- 
sible idea of saying nothing to anybody, but 
walking home all by herself. 


CHAPTER XI 


The Sea-Roke 

I T was all quite easj r . She had taken off her 
coat and hat in Grade’s room; Joey made her 
way there — hurried into her things, and ran 
downstairs. She only met one servant; the place 
was in a dozy, Sunday-afternoon condition. She 
got out at a side door, and, avoiding the front 
drive, where she thought she might be seen and 
stopped, she darted away over well-kept lawns, 
crossed the ha-ha at a jump, and landed in the 
park. Here she slightly slackened her headlong 
pace — nobody would see her among the trees — 
and began to compose her letter of apology to 
Cousin Greta. She supposed she was being 
dreadfully rude, and it was a rudeness which 
would be horribly difficult to explain, without 
complaining of Grade — naturally an unspeak- 
able idea. 

She had only got as far as “Dear Cousin 
Greta, — I hope I was not very rude, but . . .” 
when she cleared the park, and crossed the 
straight marsh road. She had decided to go by 
the fields, in case somebody should be sent after 

m 


THE SEA-ROKE 


123 


her. If she kept in a line with the road, even at 
a distance of half a mile or so on the sea- ward 
side, she would be quite safe, she thought. She 
gave a glance around her to make sure of the 
lie of the land ; it was all quite easy, for the Octo- 
ber afternoon was clear, and a peculiar trans- 
parent luminosity lay on the glittering horizon. 
Then she plunged forward, concocting her letter 
to Cousin Greta as she went. It must certainly 
be written and sent off to-night, for there was no 
question about it, she had been disgracefully 
rude. Only she couldn’t go on being a nuisance 
to people who didn’t want her and invited her 
out only from a sense of duty. 

“Dear Cousin Greta,— I hope I was not 
very rude, but I found I had to get back earlier 
than I expected, and . . . and ... I didn’t 
want to disturb you as you were lying down.” 

Joey didn’t know that in the struggle to com- 
pose that difficult letter of apology to Cousin 
Greta she had diverged a little from the straight 
line that she had fixed for herself, and was bear- 
ing down farther from the road with every step 
she took. The letter took a great deal of pump- 
ing out; one had to try and be truthful, and at 
the same time no telltale. When politeness had 
to come in as well, it made each sentence most 


124 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


terribly difficult, and Joey wrestled with that 
letter in much affliction of spirit, and went farther 
and farther out of her way without ever seeing 
where she was going. 

The bit about not wanting to disturb Cousin 
Greta was not absolutely true, because J oey had 
been really glad she had been lying down; still, 
perhaps it might pass — one couldn’t say one was 
glad anyway. 

“It was very kind of you to ha\e me out,” 
Joe went on; “thank you most awfully. About 
my going back to Redlands alone. I always go 
about alone at home, unless one of the others 
happens to be with me, so I hope you won’t mind 
that. I’m not a kid, you know. 

“Your affectionate cousin, 

“Joey.” 

Joey finished the letter in her mind, and said 
it over to herself. It wouldn’t take long to write 
down, that was one comfort — and she hoped it 
would make Cousin Greta understand she wasn’t 
quite the ill-mannered girl she had seemed. And 
as she finished saying it and got it finally off her 
chest, she knew suddenly that she was very cold, 
and that a clammy white wall was surrounding 
her on every side, that beneath her feet was green 
bogginess, and of the road or any landmark there 
was not so much as a trace. 


THE SEA-ROKE 


125 


Joey had heard of the sea-roke in books, but 
that didn’t make her very clear about it now she 
met it. She couldn’t think how such a thick, 
dead-white fog could have come up without her 
noticing it; but here it was, that was very cer- 
tain. She began to wish that she had kept to 
the high road, or left the composition of that 
difficult letter till she got back to Redlands. 
However, the roke was here, and she was on the 
Deeps and not the road ; there was nothing for it 
but to keep as straight on as possible — or better 
still, turn to her left and strike the road. 

Joey settled that would be the wisest thing to 
do, even if it took her out of her way at first ; she 
turned to the left and went as straight as she 
could. 

The road seemed to take a very long time to be 
reached; Joey couldn’t think how she could have 
come so far from it. She stumbled on and on, 
finding the ground very quaggy, and walking 
exceedingly difficult. And then she jumped back 
only just in time, for she had all but walked into 
one of those deep ditches with slanting sides that 
drain the Deeps at intervals, and are a very real 
danger, with their thick ooze of mud below the 
water, and their slippery banks. Joey knew that 
she had crossed no ditch on her way down from 
the road; she began to feel a little pricking of 
uneasiness. She was very, very tired; her legs 


126 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


ached, and she seemed to herself to have walked 
miles and miles through this cold, clammy, white 
wall. And if she couldn’t strike the road; how 
much farther might she not have to go? And 
was all this struggling getting her any nearer to 
Redlands? 

Joey was not a nervous person, but she sat 
down at the side of the dyke to try and get her 
bearings, with rather a sinking heart. She had 
just remembered that in a fog you tend to wan- 
der in a circle ; could she have been doing that all 
this long time when she hoped that she was at 
least getting on a little? 

“What a bally nuisance!” she said aloud. Of 
course one couldn’t acknowledge, even to oneself, 
that it was anything worse than that. 

“I suppose I had better wait till the fog lifts,” 
she said, wondering whether it were the close, 
white wall or the sinking sensation under her 
belt that made her voice so hollow. And just as 
she said it there came a little breeze, and the roke 
lifted for a minute, hanging around like cotton- 
wool clouds that wanted to settle on the earth 
and couldn’t quite make up their minds to do so ; 
and J oey saw, some thirty yards away from her 
— not the road — there was no sign of that — but 
a narrow plank bridge that crossed the dyke and, 
straight in a line with it, the mysterious Round 
Tower. 


THE SEA-ROKE 


127 


Joey dia not waste a minute. She ran for her 
life, and was over the bridge before the roke came 
down again — baffling, clinging, frightening. But 
the tower was so near, and there was no dyke be- 
tween ; she had seen that. She ran straight on in 
the white darkness, and fell breathlessly against 
the rough wall of the tower five minutes later. 

The roke was thicker than ever after that mo- 
mentary lifting, but Joey didn’t care now. There 
was shelter and safety in the tower, and she felt 
as though having reached it was the next best 
thing to being safe at Redlands. Noreen had 
told her it really was a good four miles from the 
College, but it seemed comfortingly close when 
one remembered that night on the leads. 

Joey felt her way round it until she came to a 
narrow door standing at least three feet above 
the ground. She felt the ledge on which the door 
opened with her fingers, scrambled up to it, and 
tried the door. It was fastened, but she carried 
a strong pocket-knife, and inserting the stoutest 
blade into the chink, she forced back the bolt 
which secured it on the inside, and opened the 
door. Then, with a delightful thrill of mystery, 
she scrambled through into the tower. 

It was black-dark inside, not white-dark as it 
was out; for the one narrow window on this 
ground floor was shuttered. Joey longed for an 
electric torch. She stumbled on a cautious step 


128 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


or two; then, growing bolder, walked on three or 
four more, with hands outstretched. Her hands 
came into contact with a narrow shelf, and on it, 
joy! she felt a match-box. Joey struck a match, 
feeling as though all her troubles were over. 

The flash gave her a rough notion of grey walls 
and an iron ladder running up almost perpendic- 
ularly to the right of her, and it showed some- 
thing else as well — a lantern that stood upon the 
same shelf where she had found the matches. 
Joey seized upon it, as a shipwrecked mariner 
might on a spar, and lit it. Holding it in her 
hand, she felt strong enough to face anything; 
it was the darkness which had been so frighten- 
ing. 

Holding the lantern on high she set out to 
explore her refuge ; after all, for whatever reason, 
it was rather exciting to find oneself in the mys- 
terious Round Tower at last. 

The floor above was so high that the rays of 
her lantern could not reach it, but she was sure 
there was another floor because of the ladder, 
which obviously must lead somewhere. Joey 
thought she would go up it presently and see for 
herself, but at present the ground floor of the 
tower presented attractions. It was strewn with 
a quantity of loose stones and debris of all kinds, 
except in one place — one can hardly say corner 
in a round tower — where it would seem to have 


THE SEA-ROKE 


129 


been swept smooth. Joey, having wandered 
round the loose- jointed grey walls, examining 
them with interest, came to the place where the 
debris was comparatively scanty, and held her 
lantern down to light the place. 

A voice came up to her from below the floor, 
a rather thin, peevish voice that sounded exceed- 
ingly tired, and had a curious accent. 

“You are at least two hours earlier than you 
said you would be ; how can you then expect me 
to be ready?” 

Joey quite jumped — the voice was so entirely 
unexpected. Then she realised that she must be 
taken for somebody else. 

“I can’t be anyone you expected two hours 
later, because I didn’t know myself about walk- 
ing home and this old fog,” she said. “Do tell 
me, are you down a trap-door, or what?” 

A square of floor lifted with some difficulty, 
and a head appeared — the head of a pale, un- 
healthy-looking young man, with large, startled, 
blue eyes. 

“I say, I hope I didn’t frighten you coming in 
like this,” Joey said politely. “But the fog — the 
sea-roke, I think they call it, is so beastly, and I 
couldn’t find my way back.” 

The young man came altogether out from the 
trap-door. Joey didn’t think much of his nerves ; 
his hands were trembling and he looked as though 


130 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Gavin could have knocked him down quite easily. 

“Do you live here?” Joey asked, as he did not 
speak. “I hope you don’t mind my coming in 
like this; but Noreen, one of the Redlands girls, 
tells me that the Deeps are really rather danger- 
ous when the roke is about.” 

The young man seemed to recover his breath. 

“You are a Redlands young lady, are you? 
Surely your mistress does not know that you are 
wandering about the Deeps alone?” 

“Miss Conyngham? No, I don’t suppose she 
does,” Joey said easily. “I didn’t know myself 
till it happened, but of course I ought to have 
come by the road.” 

“It would be much safer,” the young man said 
impressively. He did not answer J oey’s question 
about living in the tower; but proceeded to tell 
her story upon story of accidents happening on 
the Deeps to people who strayed there in the fog 
or the dark. Joey thought his stories were a little 
like the Cautionary Tales ; from his account the 
sea-roke perpetually lay in wait, in company with 
horrid oozy spots where people disappeared with 
no trace left to tell how they had died. His 
stories were so interesting that Joey forgot her 
desire to explore, and sat by his side on a great 
block of fallen stone, listening with all her ears, 
and foreseeing a thrilling time in Blue Dorm this 
evening. She was so absorbed that she never 



“l HOPE I DIDN’T FRIGHTEN YOU COMING IN LIKE THIS,” JOEY 

SAID POLITELY 























































THE SEA-ROKE 


181 


noticed the lightening of the roke, until a long, 
narrow bar of sunshine fell through a chink in the 
shutters of the window, making the red glow of 
the lantern look pale and unnatural. Then she 
jumped up in a hurry, and held out her hand. 
The post went out at six on Sundays, and she 
still had four miles to walk before she could write 
that apology to Cousin Greta. She must go at 
once now it would be safe to cross the piece of 
marsh-land to the road. She held out her hand 
to the young man. 

“Good-bye,” she said. “You’ve been a brick 
to me, and I’ve enjoyed your stories most aw- 
fully. I’ve had no end of a good time here, and 
it’s jolly thrilling, when you haven’t done it, to 
know you might have been drowned so easily, 
isn’t it? It’s been a topping afternoon. Thanks 
ever so.” 

She shook hands with the young man, whose 
easily scared breath seemed to have departed 
again, for he gasped and said nothing. 

Joey turned her back upon the Round Tower 
and turned her face in the direction of the road, 
now plainly to be seen. It was not till she had 
reached it that it struck her that she had been 
rather stupid not to ask leave to come again, and 
bring her friends. But perhaps now the young 
man was used to her, he wouldn’t mind if three 
or four of them turned up one afternoon, and 


182 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


asked for some more of his stories, and permis- 
sion to explore? Joey settled in her own mind 
that she would share the privilege with Noreen 
and Gabrielle at least. But one couldn’t go back 
to ask leave, with the thought of the six o’clock 
post and that letter of apology still to be written 
for it. 

Joey covered the ground at her best pace, 
never looking back; reached the road quite suc- 
cessfully and, by dint of running most of the way, 
arrived, panting, at the side door of Redlands, 
just as the gong sounded for five o’clock tea. 


CHAPTER XII 

In Trouble 

T OEY slipped into her place at table, hoping 
that Miss Lambton would not notice her 
grubby hands and rough hair. There had only 
been just time to tear off her coat and hat in the 
nearest cloakroom, belonging to the Sixth Form 
by right; tidying had to go by the board. 

She squeezed in between Noreen and Barbara. 
“I’ve got a scrummy box of chocs/’ she whis- 
pered. 

Noreen gave quite a start. “Hullo! You’ve 
turned up. Half the Lower School have been 
leading weary lives about you this afternoon!” 

“Why?” demanded Joey. 

“Oh, your cousin ’phoned, apparently, and 
said you’d gone off by yourself, and the chauffeur 
couldn’t see you along the road, and then the 
roke came up and they were afraid something 
might happen to you. . . 

“Likely — I’m not a kid,” Joey stated, with 
immense scorn. “But I’m awfully sorry anyone 
bothered. Am I in a row?” 

133 


134 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“ ’Fraid so. What possessed you to bolt off 
like that, you goat?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. I wanted to come back.” 

“You’re cracked, I think,” Barbara said un- 
compromisingly. “Don’t you know girls are al- 
ways sent back when they’re at school?” 

“I couldn’t know there was going to be such 
a rotten old fuss about it,” Joey complained. 
“However, if I’m in for it, I am. I’ve got the 
chocs, anyhow; we’ll orgy in Blue Dorm to- 
night.” 

“Jocelyn Graham I” Miss Lambton spoke 
sharply from her end of her table. “Hurry with 
your tea, please, and then go to Miss Conyng- 
ham.” 

“Yes, Miss Lambton,” Joey answered rue- 
fully, and then added to Noreen, “Hope she’ll 
leave me time to write and apologise to Cousin 
Greta.” 

“You’ll be lucky if she’s finished rowing you 
by supper-time,” Noreen remarked unkindly, but 
added, after a second, “Don’t worry; I don’t 
suppose you’ll catch it much, as you’re new. Say 
you didn’t know.” 

“Say there’s insanity in the family and you 
hope it isn’t coming out,” suggested Barbara; 
but Joey was too much depressed to be drawn 
by this remark. She finished her tea in haste, 


IN TROUBLE 


135 


and was dispatched by Miss Lambton to Miss 
Conyngham, without waiting for grace. 

Miss Conyngham’s “Come in” was rather 
severe. Joey screwed up her courage and opened 
the door. 

“Please, Miss Lambton said I was to come,” 
she said meekly. 

Miss Conyngham was standing by the fire ; she 
looked tall and imposing — much taller and more 
terrifying than in that first interview, poor Joey 
thought. 

“What have you been doing, Jocelyn?” she 
asked, and her voice, though quiet, was very cold. 

Joey pulled herself together. 

“Pm very sorry if it wasn’t the right thing,” 
she said; “but I came away earlier from my 
cousin’s, because — because— I wanted to — and 
I’ve made up my letter of apology, truly; quite 
a polite one, and if you could finish rowing me 
in time for the post, I should be frightfully 
obliged, because Mums hates impoliteness.” 

Miss Conyngham said nothing for a minute, 
but looked attentively at Joey. 

“You are thirteen, I think,” she said, at last, 
“old enough to understand that you have done 
rather an inexcusable thing this afternoon. If it 
had been little Bertillia, I should not have been 
surprised — one expects a baby to occasionally act 
on an absurd impulse, and that is why babies are 


136 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


in charge of someone, always. You are a girl of 
thirteen, with plenty of brains if you choose to 
make use of them, and yet, because presumably 
you were not enjoying yourself, you were guilty 
of very gross discourtesy towards your cousin, 
and of a breach of trust towards me. I grant 
that perhaps you did not understand it is a col- 
lege rule that no girl goes out alone; but you 
heard me arrange with your cousin to bring you 
back in time for chapel at 6.30, so you knew what 
my wishes were.” 

“Yes,” murmured Joey, staring hard at a pic- 
ture opposite — a little patch of purple heather, 
and a group of yellowing birches that reminded 
her of Calgarloch and home. Noreen and Bar- 
bara had prepared her for a row, but she had not 
been prepared for the horrid effect of the Head’s 
quiet, cold voice. 

“Your cousin telephoned here in great anxiety 
when she found that you had gone,” Miss Con- 
yngham went on, “and when there was no sign 
of you on the road we all knew you must be com- 
ing by the Deeps, in the sea-roke. You did a 
very dangerous as well as a very wrong thing, 
Jocelyn; do you know that?” 

“The man in the tower told me so, most kind- 
ly,” Joey explained; “but I didn’t do it on pur- 
pose. Honour! And I had a reason, a real 
proper reason for leaving Cousin Greta’s on my 


IN TROUBLE 


137 


own — only it wasn’t one I could say to her. It 
wasn't just not enjoying myself: I was enjoying 
myself quite with John — that is Gracie’s snotty 
cousin, worth ten of her any day ...” 

“That will do,” interrupted Miss Conyngham. 
“I am glad you had any reason in what you did; 
but nothing can make it excusable. I have al- 
ways been proud to trust our Redlands girls in 
every way; do you realise that when you act as 
you have done you are bringing discredit on us 
all? And a girl owes loyalty to her school above 
everything!” 

Joey swallowed hard. “Well, I’m frightfully 
sorry, Miss Conyngham. I ... I should think 
you had better punish me — only, might I go now, 
because of writing to Cousin Greta?” 

“You had better telephone to your cousin,” 
Miss Conyngham said gravely. “I will put you 
through in a minute. Yes, I think you must be 
punished, not because I am angry but to help 
you to remember. You are not to talk to the 
others in Blue Dormitory for a week, and go to 
bed directly after supper during that time. Do 
you think you can remember?” 

Joey gasped. “You couldn’t make it French 
verbs instead? I’m awful at French verbs — ask 
Maddy.” 

“People don’t choose their own punishments, 
Jocelyn,” the Head told her, with the ghost of a 


138 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


smile. “It must be as I said: can you remember, 
do you think? You see, I am trusting to your 
honour.” 

“Yes, I’ll remember,” Joey said mournfully, 
“but it will be beastly. I hope it will square up 
all the bother I’ve given you a bit, though.” 

“We will see what it can do,” said Miss Con- 
yngham in a kinder voice. “Now I will put you 
through to your cousin.” 

The telephone was still rather a mystery to 
Joey; but she squeezed the middle of the receiver 
as Miss Conyngham directed, and said “Hullo.” 
Then Miss Conyngham went out and left her. 

“Is that you, Cousin Greta?” Joey inquired in 
a high-pitched unnatural voice. “Then, please, 
I’m most awfully sorry, and I didn’t mean to be 
rude, or make you anxious — just I thought I’d 
better come home early. . . .” 

Cousin Greta interrupted. “I know, dear; 
John told me. Don’t think any more about it; 
I am only too thankful you are safe. You must 
come over on another Sunday very soon, and we 
will try and give you a really happy time.” 

Joey felt more choky than she had done 
through all Miss Conyngham’s harangue. 

“It’s no end brickish of you,” she stammered, 
forgetting to speak in what she thought was a 
telephone voice, and becoming much more audi- 
ble in consequence. “You were fearfully kind 


IN TROUBLE 189 

to-day, and it’s frightfully nice of you not to be 
mad!” 

She rang off, and went to find her chocolates, 
feeling distinctly happier. She met Noreen in 
the passage, and thrust the box into her hands. 

“Look here, you’d better keep them and orgie,” 
she said. “I’m not to talk for a week in dorm.” 

“What a sickening shame! But we’ll keep the 
chocs till the week’s up,” Noreen said cheerfully. 
“My hat-box will do; Matron never pokes her 
nose into that. Keep smiling, old thing; it’s rot- 
ten, I know, but we’ll simply have the bust of our 
lives when the week’s up, and you’re clear.” 

Joey went up to bed directly after supper that 
night as commanded, but feeling less depressed 
than might have been expected. For one thing, 
Miss Conyngham had addressed her in quite an 
ordinary tone at supper; for another, Cousin 
Greta had been so unexpectedly nice. And 
Noreen’s friendship came in a good third. Joey 
looked forward determinedly to next Sunday, 
when chocolates should be eaten in wild profusion 
in the watches of the night, to the accompaniment 
of the nervous young man’s gruesome stories of 
what happened to people wandering casually 
about the Deeps. 


CHAPTER XIII 


“The Three Musketeers’’ 

M ISS CRAIGIE was to come back on the 
day after Joey was restored to the ordi- 
nary privileges of Blue Dorm. Miss Conyngham 
sent for Joey after breakfast and mentioned the 
fact, asking very kindly if she would like to go 
and meet the four train, instead of joining her 
form “croc.” 

“Choose a companion,” she said; “and, of 
course, I trust you to go and come back by the 
road, Jocelyn.” 

Joey coloured up. “It’s ever so good of you, 
Miss Conyngham; of course I’ll play fair. But 
please, is there ever a time when you could let 
us go on the Deeps? — for that tower is most 
frightfully interesting.” 

“The owner lives in London, I believe, and 
doesn’t allow people to go over it,” Miss Conyng- 
ham said. “It isn’t supposed to be very safe 
now, for scrambling about in. But I will try to 
find out if he would have any objections to my 
taking a party of you girls, if you are so very 
keen.” 


140 


THE THREE MUSKETEERS” 141 


‘ I think it would do that nervous chap good to 
see some company,” urged Joey. “You can’t 
think what his jumpiness was like, Miss Conyng- 
ham.” 

Miss Conyngham was as usual extremely busy, 
and could not wait to enter into the question. 

“Which companion, Jocelyn?” 

“Could I have two?” asked Joey, greatly dar- 
ing. 

Miss Conyngham considered. “I don’t see any 
objection, if you will all behave very steadily. 
Remember the credit of Redlands is in your 
hands. Whom do you want?” 

“Please, Gabrielle and Noreen.” 

Miss Conyngham smiled. “Very well. Are 
you three friends?” 

Joey had become a good deal more certain 
since' Cousin Greta asked that question. 

“Rather, Miss Conyngham.” 

“I am glad to hear that. Gabrielle is a very 
good sort of friend to have, Jocelyn.” 

“And Noreen is a frightfully exciting one,” 
Joey explained — and then remembered in time it 
would be better not to explain why. 

She discovered that she had gone up in the 
opinion of the Lower School now that Miss 
Conyngham had actually picked her out to meet 
Miss Craigie. The mathematical mistress had 


142 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


many adorers, it appeared — and meeting trains 
could only be done by very special permission. 

Ingrid Latimer herself accosted Joey in the 
mid-morning interval, demanding what she 
meant by going. 

“I suppose Miss Conyngham thought I should 
like it,” Joey said, slightly flustered by the ques- 
tion from one so great as the Senior Prefect. 

“Rubbish! As though the Head would stop 
to think about that,” Ingrid answered crushingly. 
“Think again, Kid. Is she an aunt of yours by 
any chance?” 

“No— but we both live in Scotland, you see,” 
Joey suggested. 

“The cheek of the babe — as though Scotland 
were a private belonging of those two,” burst in 
another huge Sixth F ormer, and Ingrid suddenly 
put both arms round Joey and lifted her on to a 
desk. “Now there you stay, until you have sup- 
plied a really adequate reason why you — merely 
an uppish new kid — should be granted the glo- 
rious privilege of meeting our Miss Craigie.” 

Joey considered. “Want the real reason?” 

“Yes, and hurry up with it.” 

Joey grinned. “Then go on wanting it!” 

The bell for Third Lesson rang violently. 

“Oh, get off that desk and go to your class- 
room,” ordered Ingrid. “You are the purple 


THE THREE MUSKETEERS” 143 


limit in assertiveness. I don’t know why I put 
up with it.” 

“P’r’aps because you can’t help it,” suggested 
Joey, and then she scuttled past Ingrid at her 
best speed, and joined a gasping Noreen at the 
door. 

“Are you whole and entire?” Noreen de- 
manded. “My dear Joey, Ingrid will strew the 
floor with your remains if you don’t look out. 
Td never dare speak to her like that; I’d sooner 
cheek Miss Conyngham.” 

“I don’t mind Ingrid,” Joey boasted, vain- 
gloriously. “It’s rather sport to see what she’ll 
say next.” 

“No talking!” rapped out the Latin master, 
and Noreen began to gabble over her work to 
herself with great energy. 

Joey felt fairly sure of hers, so devoted the 
spare two or three minutes, while Mr. Reade 
surveyed his notes, to drawing an extremely 
fancy portrait of herself and Ingrid walking 
down the Queen’s Hall arm in arm, while por- 
tions of the Lower School cowered in doorways, 
or hurried obsequiously to right and left. This 
work of art was duly shown to Noreen, as soon as 
a flustered Barbara was put on to construe; 
Noreen retorted with a furious “Just you wait!” 

Joey’s assertiveness was kindly ignored in the 
afternoon, however, in view of the fact that she 


144 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 

had won the privilege of meeting the train for 
her friends, and the three set out very cheerfully 
and a good ten minutes earlier than they need 
have done. 

“How’s the Professor?” Joey asked, as they 
passed the Lab, where she had spent those purga- 
torial minutes on her first arrival. It had been 
arranged by Miss Conyngham that she should not 
take chemistry till next term, in view of the host 
of bewildering new subjects that descend upon a 
girl fresh to school. 

Noreen screwed up her eyes. “Well, his tem- 
per isn’t on the mend. If he goes on being such 
a beast I shall cook up a pathetic letter to the 
pater and tell him I’m overworked.” 

“I should think he is,” suggested Gabrielle 
quietly. “Have you noticed how pouchy he is 
under the eyes ? — as though he didn’t get enough 
sleep.” 

“Well, whatever is the matter with him, he’s a 
holy terror to work with,” Noreen declared un- 
sympathetically. “I say, Gabrielle, I wish Joey 
did take stinks — her uppishness would probably 
drive him clean over the border, and we shouldn’t 
have to bear with him any more.” 

“You’ve jolly well got to be uppish here if you 
don’t want to be absolutely squashed,” Joey ex- 
plained. “I expect the Professor has war-strain; 
there was an English lady came to stay with us 


“THE THREE MUSKETEERS” 145 


who simply couldn’t stand Bingo blowing a trum- 
pet anywhere near her because she had that, poor 
thing.” 

“P’r’aps he has a bad conscience, and is doing 
something beastly with his stinks,” suggested 
Noreen. “I say, wouldn’t it be a good thing to 
find out which it is? If it’s war-strain — well, I’ll 
bear his utter hatefulness and calling me ‘fat- 
head’ before the class, with cheerfulness; though 
I’m sure he’s too old and too stout to have fought 
the Huns — still, he may have done munitions 
and used his chemistry that way . . .” 

“Wasn’t he here in the war?” asked Joey. 

“Rather not. He only came last term, and 
nobody could stand him then. He’s worse now. 
So if it’s an evil conscience — I say, Joey, you old 
slacker, why don’t you take stinks? You could 
help no end in the Sherlock Holmes business. 
Tell you what. I’ll smuggle you in next time — 
Cicely Wren is in San with a throat — he won’t 
notice who’s there as long as he has his proper 
tale of jumpy victims.” 

“Let’s,” Joey said; but much to her surprise 
and disappointment, Gabrielle interfered quite 
decidedly. 

“No, that wouldn’t do. You mustn’t, Joey. 
Don’t try and get her to, Noreen.” 

“Don’t see why not,” grumbled Noreen, but 
Joey noticed that she yielded to the rather small 


146 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Head of the Lower School with only that one 
murmur. 

It was a dull, lowering afternoon, and the 
Round Tower, standing up before the three, 
looked gloomy and forbidding. 

“Wonder if the jumpy young man is there 
now?” Joey remarked. The whole story of her 
adventure had been joyfully told last night in 
Blue Dorm, to the accompaniment of a most un- 
wise amount of chocolates, and all Blue Dorm 
was as keen to explore the shaky tower as she w T as 
herself. And she and Gabrielle had shared a 
milk tumbler at Break, after which Gabrielle had 
been quite as much stirred up as the other three 
were. 

“It strikes me,” said Noreen, “that we are liv- 
ing in a mystery — probably lurid — and certainly 
topping. Why should Joey’s man be so jumpy?” 
She paused dramatically. 

“P’r’aps an air-raid bomb fell near him,” sug- 
gested Joey. 

“Egg! A bomb took most of my Granny’s 
bed-room wall out one night, and she didn’t turn 
a hair. English people don’t.” 

“P’r’aps he’s Belgian. He didn’t seem quite 
English somehow.” 

“Well, if you meet him casually drop into 
French, and see how he takes it.” 

“Drop into French yourself,” urged Joey; 


THE THREE MUSKETEERS” 147 


“you always find that so jolly easy in French 
conversation class.” 

“There! Listen to her, Gabrielle ! Ever know 
anything so cheeky?— and I’m nearly a year 
older,” complained Noreen. 

Gabrielle was a peacemaker. “Oh, don’t rag, 
you two. I want to think about the Professor. 
I wonder whether Miss Conyngham knows quite 
how — how cranky he is? He quite frightened a 
lot of the babies who were playing about near the 
door of the Lab, the other day, Rosie told me. 
He simply yelled at them, and no one ought to 
do that with babies. It wasn’t as though they 
were trying to go in, or anything of that sort.” 

“I believe it’s an evil conscience he’s got,” 
urged Noreen, with relish. “Why should he go 
for the babies otherwise? There’s no sense in it.” 

“Unless it’s like our war-strainy visitor and 
Bingo’s trumpet,” Joey said. “But she didn’t go 
for him — she only asked frightfully nicely if he 
would mind blowing it farther off. The Pro- 
fessor is a pig to the kids; I’ve noticed it. Do 
you know Tiddles will never play that side of the 
house at all?” 

“He hasn’t gone and frightened poor little 
Tiddles, has he?” demanded Gabrielle indig- 
nantly. 

“I don’t know. I never asked. But she can’t 


148 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


bear him,” Joey said. “She won’t come round 
that way, even with me.” 

Gabrielle ruffled up like an angry robin. 
“Well, that settles it. Of course, one can’t go 
sneaking of him to Miss Conyngham when it may 
be war-strain, but I shall ask the Professor my- 
self if he will mind being careful where the babies 
are concerned, poor little things.” 

Noreen and Joey gasped. “You won’t? Why, 
he’ll be furious.” 

“It’s my job to look after things like that,” 
Gabrielle said firmly. “It’s the choice between 
pointing out quietly to him that babies mustn’t 
be frightened, and telling Miss Conyngham what 
he’s been doing — and I’m Head of the Lower. 
And nobody tells about unfairness and things like 
that at Coll; you just bear them, or alter them 
for yourself.” 

“Well, you’re a sport, Gabrielle,” Noreen re- 
marked admiringly. “I wouldn’t have the 
pluck.” 

“Of course I shall put it quite politely,” Ga- 
brielle told them. “Just say I am sure he would 
be most disturbed if he knew that he frightened 
the babies, and so on. I don’t suppose he does it 
on purpose.” 

“I do,” Noreen said stubbornly. “Don’t you, 
Joey?” 

“Haven’t seen enough of him — but I do think 


“THE THREE MUSKETEERS’’ 149 


he’s a terror,” Joey agreed; and then the station 
came in sight and they left off talking about the 
Professor and his ways, and talked of Miss 
Craigie instead. 

“You’ll have to buck up over your maths now, 
Joey,” Gabrielle remarked. “She’ll be so fright- 
fully keen to see you go top, if she’s a friend of 
yours.” 

“Joey is rather brainy over them,” Noreen re- 
marked kindly. “I sometimes fear she’s going to 
turn into a swot after all.” 

“I’m not. I’ve been in quite as many rows for 
talking in maths class as you, anyhow,” Joey 
retorted. 

“Well, nobody talks when Miss Craigie takes 
maths,” Gabrielle said, and Noreen agreed a 
trifle ruefully. “No, that’s a true bill. You’re 
a frightfully strenuous crowd in Scotland, Joey. 
Glad I wasn’t born there.” 

“It’s really rather funny we three should be 
friends,” Joey remarked. “Gabrielle English, 
Noreen Irish, and I Scotch.” 

“We ought to make a pretty good alliance, 
don’t you think?” said Gabrielle in her quiet way. 

“The three Musketeers,” suggested Noreen. 
“Let’s stick together like they did — and I only 
wish we could go in for as many rows I” 

At which pious aspiration both Joey and Ga- 


150 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


brielle laughed, for Noreen was notorious at Red- 
lands for the number and extent of her rows. 

The train was rather late, but it came at last, 
and among the few people getting out at Mote 
Deeping, was a neat figure in a very well-cut coat 
and skirt, who was only about half Mr. Craigie’s 
ungainly size, and not at all like him at first sight ; 
though Joey came a little later on to recognise 
the familiar twinkle of the deep-set eyes and the 
kindly smile. Just then she only knew Miss 
Craigie by the ecstatic exclamation of Noreen 
and Gabrielle, “That’s her!” 

Miss Craigie shook hands with them, and she 
seemed to know who Joey was without a need of 
Gabrielle’s polite introduction. At the earnest 
request of all the three, she consented to put all 
her luggage into one of the wheezy cabs and walk 
with them to Redlands. 

She laid a hand on Joey’s shoulder as they left 
the little station. “Well, how goes it?” 

Joey liked her voice, with its touch of soft 
Scotch accent, and her eyes were very kind. She 
took a deep breath. 

“I’ve messed up my quilt taking it on the roof, 
and Matron says it’s a disgrace and ought to 
make me ashamed every time I go to bed. And 
I’ve starred a window, so it had to be mended; 
and I’ve got into a row with the Head for arriv- 


“THE THREE MUSKETEERS’’ 151 


ing home alone, and with Professor Trouville for 
tidying his old Lab ” 

“That was my fault!” interrupted Noreen. 

“And been turned out of French class once — 
but Maddy was fearfully decent after — and out 
of maths class twice for ragging. . . 

“I begin to feel quite anxious,” Miss Craigie 
said tranquilly; but even Joey understood the 
truth of Noreen’s statement, that there was no 
ragging when Miss Craigie taught. 

With Noreen squeezing her arm affectionately 
on one side and Joey holding rather shyly to the 
other, Miss Craigie walked the two miles to Red- 
lands, hearing much school news and asking 
many questions, in especial about the prospects of 
the big hockey match, Redlands v. Lincolnshire 
Ladies, which was always played towards the end 
of October. 

“It’s to be at Deeping Royal this year,” Ga- 
brielle said. “It was the Lines Ladies’ turn to 
choose, you see.” 

“Selfish pigs, they might have chosen some- 
where nearer. Nine miles off; why, hardly any 
of us will be able to go and look on,” grumbled 
Noreen. 

“I think you will find that a certain number 
will go by train,” Miss Craigie said in her quiet 
way. “You ought to be a poet, Noreen — you 
do love to magnify a grievance.” 


152 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Noreen joined in the laugh against herself ; she 
was always ready to do that. 

“Well, I don’t magnify the Stinks Professor, 
anyway, Miss Craigie ; he has grown into such an 
ill-tempered beast, hasn’t he, Gabby?” 

Miss Craigie shook her head. “Unparliamen- 
tary language, Noreen; stop it, please.” 

Noreen stopped quite meekly — rather to 
Joey’s disappointment. She would have liked to 
consult Miss Craigie about the Professor and his 
ways; however, if he wasn’t to be talked about 
there was an end of it. She asked instead where 
Deeping Royal was. 

“Away beyond the big reservoir — much nearer 
the Fossdyke Wash than we are,” Noreen ex- 
plained. “Gorgeous fields, if it’s fine — but — 
when it’s wet — Help ! I wish they would play us 
at Redlands — we’re always all right.” 

“And who will be allowed to go besides the 
Team?” Joey next asked anxiously. 

“Oh, when we play outside and have to drive 
or go by train, each member of the Team can 
take a friend, and the Heads of the Upper and 
Lower School can take two. You’ll take us, 
won’t you, Gabrielle?” Noreen demanded breath- 
lessly. 

Joey gasped at the audacity of this suggestion, 
but Gabrielle answered composedly. 

“You were the two I meant to ask, of course ." 


THE THREE MUSKETEERS” 153 


J oey walked the rest of the way back treading on 
air, and refrained from swanking aggressively to 
either Gabrielle or Noreen when Miss Craigie 
invited her to come and help unpack after tea. 

Afterwards, when several very big things had 
happened, she looked back on that blissful after- 
noon, and saw the result of that threefold friend- 
ship. 


CHAPTER XIV 


“The Play’s the Thing” 

/ THINK we ought to do something to cele- 
brate Miss Craigie’s return,” remarked 
Noreen. 

They were dressing for supper in Blue Dorm, 
Joey, Barbara, Syb, and Noreen; and as usual 
they were dressing in a hurry. 

“What sort of thing?” Joey demanded, trying 
to disentangle hooks from her hair. 

“Something to show we’re jolly pleased she’s 
come back. Just think, she might have died of 
that loathly ‘flu’; lots of people have.” 

“Shut it, you old ghoul,” ordered Barbara; 
“she’s all right again now, thank goodness!” 

“And we ought to celebrate her all-rightness,” 
Noreen said triumphantly. 

“Violets?” suggested Joey. 

“Silly cuckoo, how are we to get them?” 
“What do you want, Noreen?” Syb asked im- 
patiently. 

“How about charades after supper — and ask 
her to come and see them?” 

“Frightfully short time to think of anything 
154 


“THE PLAY’S THE THING” 155 


decent,” objected Syb; “besides, Miss Craigie 
won’t want to leave her dear Miss Lambton, you 
bet.” 

“Let’s ask her too.” 

“That doesn’t give us a decent charade.” 

“Can’t we think of something?” 

“Not something good enough.” 

“P’r’aps you’d like to do some scenes from 
Hamlet , if you want to be so very high-class,” 
Noreen suggested scornfully. Remove II. B 
were taking Hamlet in literature, and Noreen 
and the Literature Mistress were usually at log- 
gerheads. 

It was that suggestion which gave Joey her 
idea. “I say,” she burst out, “why shouldn’t we 
do a charade on the lines of Hamlet’s player- 
people? You know — where the poison was 
poured into the poor chap’s ear — and ask all the 
Staff to come, and see whether the Professor 
looks guilty and shrieks, ‘Lights!’ because he’s 
doing something evil with his stinks, as Noreen 
says, or just has a war-strain appearance. It 
needn’t be a noisy charade to upset him if it’s just 
strain.” 

Noreen thumped Joey on the back. “Topping 
plan! What word shall we have?” 

“German?” suggested Joey. “The first syl- 
lable could be Germ, you know — those things 
Matron is always fussing about ” 


156 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“Or the Huns putting them into wells,” Bar- 
bara interrupted in great excitement. 

“What about ‘an’?” asked Syb. 

“Couldn’t she be a German girl, called Anne, 
Anna really, who is pretending to be a schoolgirl, 
and really plotting and spying?” Joey said. 

“My word, Joey, you’re coming on. I’m less 
surprised you got the scholarship,” Noreen cried. 
“We — Gabrielle and Joey and I — settled this 
afternoon that someone ought to look into the 
matter of the Professor’s hatefulness, and it’s us 
that are going to,” she added cheerfully and un- 
grammatically, for the benefit of Syb and Bar- 
bara. “If he’s all right our charade won’t hurt 
him — he’ll like it; if he’s not . . .” 

The gong sounded. 

“Soufflez! Regardez glissant, mes enfants,” 
Noreen cried, tying her hair-ribbon with desper- 
ate speed. “We must fix up our charade after 
supper; and look here! we must get some of the 
others to perform first, while we’re fixing it. In- 
grid might recite, — she’s awfully good, — and 
we’ll get Gabrielle to fiddle. Joey, you’d better 
do the asking Miss Craigie — oh, and of course 
you’ll have to go to the Head first, as we want 
all the Staff. Point out it’s an occasion.” 

“Oh, I say, won’t one of you?” asked poor 
Joey; but Noreen was adamant. 


“THE PLAY’S THE THING” 157 


“You’re rather in favour with the Head, I be- 
lieve, and anyhow you’ve swanked enough about 
Miss Craigie. It’s clearly your duty to get leave 
for the show. We’ll do the rest.” 

“All right,” Joey agreed resignedly, and then 
the inhabitants of Blue Dorm tore downstairs at 
a record pace, only just escaping an order mark 
for lateness by the skin of their teeth. 

Miss Conyngham received Joey’s request very 
graciously, and promised to invite the Staff to 
witness the performance and bring them with her 
to Queen’s Hall in half an hour’s time. Joey 
flew back, very satisfied to find Noreen, Barbara, 
and Sybil in one of the small classrooms, opening 
from the Hall, distractedly considering the all- 
important charade. But they were cheerful too, 
for it appeared that Ingrid had consented to 
recite, and Gabrielle and the musical genius of 
Remove II., Clare Estcome, to play. 

“We’ll put the play last,” Noreen said im- 
pressively, “and we four will do it, and say noth- 
ing to anybody else. Joey, just tell some of these 
juniors who are doing nothing to arrange the 
chairs for a show and pull the curtains across the 
platform; and then we can get on to our job. 
You’re sure the Professor is coming?” 

“Miss Conyngham laughed frightfully nicely 
and said she was sure all the Staff would be de- 


158 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


lighted, and she thought it a topping idea,” J oey 
said ; and on that the four got to work in earnest. 

Miss Conyngham gave gracious permission for 
the two forms below Remove II. to sit up for the 
performance, so a large audience was already 
assembled when the staff of Redlands swept into 
the Queen’s Hall — Miss Conyngham with her 
arm through Miss Craigie’s — to place themselves 
in the “stalls” specially retained for them. Joey, 
watching through a chink in the curtains shut- 
ting off the platform, was delighted to see that 
the Professor sat upon the other side of Miss 
Conyngham. He looked placid and pleased 
enough now, so far as his large, pallid face could 
be said to show any expression at all. The audi- 
ence was further swelled by the servants, indoor 
and out, even including two or three men who 
were repairing pipes. 

The performance began with Gabrielle’s 
newest violin-piece — a nocturne, executed very 
correctly but rather nervously. The school 
applauded vigorously, as they would have ap- 
plauded anything from the popular Heads of 
the Upper or Lower School. Ingrid followed, 
jarringly dramatic in Noyes’ Highwayman , and 
was violently appreciated. Clare, not having to 
face her audience, the piano being sideways to 
the stage, gave the most successful performance 


“THE PLAY S THE THING” 159 


of the three, but took a strictly secondary place 
in the way of applause. 

Then, after some whispering and stifled gig- 
gling, Joey was pushed forward to the front of 
the stage, and the curtain drawn back a chink. 
She spoke through it. 

“I have to announce that the forthcoming 
charade is in two syllables and three scenes. The 
third is the complete word.” 

She withdrew, and all the juniors started 
thinking aloud of two-syllabled words. They 
were quite audible on the stage, where Barbara, 
spectacled and padded as to body, was bending 
over a steaming fish-kettle, prodding it ner- 
vously. “I thought if you boiled germs you 
killed them,” she whispered. “This seems so 
jolly like the witches in Macbeth” 

“Go on, you silly ass,” urged Noreen. “It 
looks all right anyhow, and you’ve got the photo- 
plates for growing the germs on. Come on, Joey, 
I must tie you up.” 

Joey, attired in a plaid going-out frock be- 
longing to one of the little ones, to represent a 
kilt, a khaki sports coat, buttoned across, and 
two box straps for a Sam-Browne belt, was forth- 
with lashed brutally to a curtain pole, and or- 
dered not to so much as breathe for fear she 
should move it and it should become plain to the 


160 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


audience that it was leaning against her and she 
could have walked off with it quite easily. 

Syb, also rather sketchy as to uniform, but with 
an unmistakable German cap to make her na- 
tionality clear, stood by with a home-made bay- 
onet of stupendous size. Noreen, pillowy as to 
figure and checked as to blouse, and with her 
curly, dark hair tightly strained off her forehead, 
hovered near the Professor, with a large wooden 
spoon, whether to stir soup or germs seemed 
doubtful. She waved this spoon impressively, 
and sent a thrilling whisper to the side of “Draw 
the curtains.” 

The curtains jerked backhand after a pause to 
allow of sufficient thrill upon the part of the audi- 
ence, Noreen inquired sepulchrally: 

“Mein fater, is the mixture slab and strong?” 

“As strong as thy soup on Sundays, my daugh- 
ter,” was the reply. “As strong as the accursed 
British Army thinks it is ” 

“And proves it is,” remarked the dauntless 
captive at the curtain pole, and was promptly 
prodded with the bayonet to induce a respectful 
silence. 

The Professor, in very good English, with an 
occasional lapse into a German word, and a mas- 
terly repetition of “Tod und Teufel!” at regular 
intervals, proceeded to explain to his intelligent 
daughter (who stirred soup over a stove at the 



MEIN FATER, IS THE MIXTURE SLAB AND STRONG?" 




















•• 


















































































































































































THE PLAY’S THE THING” 161 


back of the stage, between times to add realism) 
that he was engaged in growing germs of a hor- 
rible disease which was to go as far as possible 
towards exterminating the “accursed England- 
ers,” and that when he had, so to speak, bottled 
them, she was to take them to England and cast 
them into all receptacles of drinking water 
throughout the kingdom. To avert suspicion she 
was to let her hair down, attire herself in a djib- 
bah, and assume the character of an English 
schoolgirl. The fair Anna delightedly accepted 
the commission, and retired from the stage to 
change the checked blouse, and the Professor 
ladled out presumably spoonfuls of germ on to 
the photographic slides, while informing the 
English prisoner that his accursed race would 
soon be non-existent. The Englishman, return- 
ing an undaunted reply, was again prodded vio- 
lently, ar^d Anna returning in a djibbah and 
looking marvellously thinner, passed him with the 
taunting gibe that she would pass anywhere as 
an English girl, and he was powerless to save his 
country, and marched out en route for England, 
carrying a dispatch case full of bottled germs. 

The Professor and the guard thereupon sat 
down to drink “Confusion to perfidious Eng- 
land,” which they did with great gusto and suc- 
cumbed to the force of brandy neat (they stated, 
it was that) with much speed. As soon as they 


162 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


had their heads down on a table, which shook 
with their snores, the English prisoner set to 
work to free himself, and succeeded in doing so 
just as the curtains were drawn in obedience to 
frenzied whispers from Noreen from behind. 
Joey laid down her curtain pole, and flew to the 
chink, regardless of the flattering applause that 
was greeting the first scene of this thrilling 
drama. 

“What is the Professor looking like, Noreen ?” 

“He’s clapping quite a lot,” Noreen explained, 
in a gusty whisper; and Joey, peering over her 
shoulder at the large, pallid face and the black 
moustache, saw that Noreen was quite right. The 
Professor was clapping as vigorously as Miss 
Craigie herself. 

“It must be war-strain,” said Joey, and they 
rang up the curtain on Scene II., which showed 
Anna or Anne in her dormitory at a girls’ school, 
which appeared to consist in one other girl only 
and a superannuated mistress ( Syb ) , whose ag- 
gressive spectacles did not seem much to assist 
her defective sight. She tottered up to say good- 
night to her pupils, calling Barbara out with her 
to unhook her dress, which opportunity was 
seized upon by Anna to mention in a brief solilo- 
quy, that she was only waiting till her room-mate 
was asleep to steal out and introduce her father’s 
germs (alternately alluded to as “flu-bugs” and 


THE PLAY’S THE THING” 163 


“bubonic plague”) into the neighbouring reser- 
voir, this proceeding being the prelude to the 
abrupt departure of “Anne” from the English 
pig-dog boarding-school for good. 

Barbara returned on the enunciation of this 
sentiment, and after a brief conversation with the 
obviously unsympathetic Anne about her brother 
— a prisoner in Germany — the two girls lay down 
in their dressing-gowns upon a sofa that was 
rather a tight fit for one, and fell instantly into 
sound stage slumber. 

After a thrilling moment of silence, Anne rose 
up, lit a candle, held it close to the eyes of the 
slumbering Barbara, and remarking, “She sleeps, 
the English pig-dog. Ach Himmel! Now can 
I do what I will,” she seized the Horlick’s Malted 
Milk bottle, large size, which contained the 
germs, and stole out. She had hardly closed the 
door when Barbara sat up, crying, “Am I dream- 
ing, or did she say pig-dog? If so, she is no 
English Anne, but a German spy among us. 
And what has she gone to do?” 

The question was answered by a call from be- 
neath the window at the back of the stage, and 
Barbara, dashing to it, called, “Jock! It’s never 
you! Come up; I’m alone.” 

Joey, hoisted from below by Ingrid, appeared 
at the open window, with, triumph of realism, 


164 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


her hair and clothes wet, for it was raining; strug- 
gled through, with much display of thin legs, and 
said dramatically, “Has she loosed her bugs?” 

The explanation that followed was a triumph 
of brevity, and brother and sister dashed out to 
try and cut Anne off before she reached the 
reservoir. The curtain fell, amid tumultuous ap- 
plause, and a jovial request from Professor 
Trouville that they would be “vary careful not 
to drop the bottle and let zose fierce animals 
loose upon us.” 

The third scene required no preparation, and 
was brief indeed. The aged Head Mistress dis- 
covered asking frantically, of no one in particu- 
lar, what can have happened to her pupils; to 
her enter Joey and Barbara, dragging between 
them Anne, defiant, and with the germ bottle 
torn from her hand — unopened. 

The Highland officer explained the situation 
in two sentences, and Anne, in a superior Ger- 
man accent, mentioned that from her point of 
view to torture prisoners and let loose disease 
upon women and children were right and proper 
— because she was — Hoch! Hoch! a German! 

Curtain, amid thunders of applause. 

The four came down into the hall to be con- 
gratulated. Miss Conyngham paid a stately 


“THE PLAY’S THE THING*' 165 


compliment to the acting; Miss Craigie, with a 
grave face, rather belied by her twinkling eyes, 
admired the chemistry; even Ingrid remarked 
condescendingly, “Not half bad for kids.” 

Joej% standing in the midst of a congratula- 
tory group of Remove II. B girls, felt a touch 
on her arm, and, turning, found herself face to 
face with the Professor. He was smiling quite 
pleasantly. 

“A clef are and entertaining little play, Mees 
Jocelyn Graham,” he said. “And it is you that 
plan it, is it not? My congratulations.” 

“Oh, thanks awfully; but it wasn’t me really 
— we all four did it,” Joey began, in some con- 
fusion, when Noreen caught what she said, and 
interrupted. 

“Don’t listen to her, Professor Trouville; she 
planned it really; and it was jolly brainy of her, 
wasn’t it?” 

The Professor smiled, his curious, sphinx-like 
smile. 

“I thank you, Mees Noreen. I thought that 
I congratulate the right one, but your friend of 
the scholarship is modest, n'est ce pas?” 

“Really the old chap was quite human for 
once, wasn’t he?” Noreen remarked, as the four 
went up to Blue Dorm a few minutes later. “I 
hope Gabrielle went for him about the babes 
while he was in this yielding mood. She won’t 


166 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


get her nose snapped off quite so close to her 
face.” 

But Joey didn’t answer; she was wondering 
why it was that she had found the Professor’s 
pleasantness so singularly unpleasant. 


CHAPTER XV 


The Court-Martial 

J OEY couldn’t go to sleep that night. She 
was excited, and all kinds of thoughts went 
whirling round and round in her head, making 
sleep impossible. 

The whole day had been exciting — the play 
had only been the culmination of it all. The 
walk to the station — the conversation about Pro- 
fessor Trouville and his queemess; on top of that 
the thrill of being coupled with N oreen in Gabri- 
elle’s invitation to the great match ; the long talk 
about home-things with Miss Craigie in her bed- 
room ; and then the play. 

It was this last, probably, that turned her 
thoughts so much to Father, dying far away from 
them all, among his enemies. 

The man who had been Father’s special friend 
among the prisoners had come to see Mums, 
when the Armistice released those of our men 
who had survived the German treatment, and had 
told her that Father was taken from the prison 
camp in a dying state, and word had come back 
a few days later that he was dead. 

F7 


168 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Captain Verney had done his very best, delay- 
ing his own return, to find out for Mums just 
how he died and where he had been buried, but 
it seemed that no one knew or cared ; and Uncle 
Staff had had no better luck when he went out 
with a War-Office permit to investigate a few 
weeks later. Mums and the children had just the 
one consolation of knowing that Father died for 
England just as surely as though he had been 
shot going over the top, to help them bear the 
thought of the long weeks of suffering and ill- 
usage which had come first. If only escaping 
from prison were as easy as it seemed in books 
and plays, Joey thought, tossing restlessly, she 
and Gavin would have been out in Germany with 
a file and a bottle of chloroform, and have set 
Father free before the Huns had time to kill 
him. But in real life you could do nothing ex- 
cept wait and wait and say your prayers, and 
take care of Mums. 

Joey sat up in bed, and stared out at the 
dark window-pane so close to her. It was a 
mild, damp night — she threw off her quilt — 
perhaps she was too hot and that was the reason 
that she could not sleep. And while she was sit- 
ing up, she saw something flash in the darkness, 
and knew in a second what it was. A series of 
short blue flashes, coming from the dark. 

“How funny!” was her first thought, and then 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 


169 


she suddenly called to mind John’s signalling in- 
structions; that was the “call-up” in Morse. 
Somebody, it seemed, was going to practise his 
signalling now, at nearly twelve at night. Joey 
crept out of bed, and crouched on the window- 
sill so as to miss nothing. 

There was disappointingly little to see; the 
people, whoever they were, were not nearly such 
keen signallers as John was. Something came 
from the side of the house — from her window 
J oey couldn’t locate it exactly — three long flashes 
and two short ones. Then, a minute later, from 
the distance — one of the letters she had used with 
John — short, long, long, long, and then a short- 
long. 

And that was all. 

Joey sat crouched on the window-sill for quite 
a long time, but nothing more happened. Then, 
just as she was thinking of getting back to bed, 
someone came round the corner of the house far 
below. It was the Professor. She saw him un- 
mistakably in the light of an electric torch, which 
he must have pressed for an instant, perhaps to 
show him the path. He slept, as Joey knew, 
in a room on the ground floor of the lodge ; he had 
chosen it because he so often worked late at the 
Lab and did not want to disturb the lodge-keeper 
and his wife. 

She wondered whether it was he who had been 


170 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


signalling; somehow you would not expect an 
ill-tempered chemistry professor to want to prac- 
tise signalling, especially about twelve o’clock at 
night. 

Of course, German spies used to signal in war- 
time, but then the Professor wasn’t German: his 
name was French, and the look of him was more 
French than German, and he spoke with a French 
accent, and, most important proof of all, he had 
laughed and been quite genial about the play, in- 
stead of giving himself away as Hamlet’s uncle 
had done. Besides, English people had settled 
they wouldn’t have Huns creeping in among 
them again, and though Colonel Sturt had 
seemed to think they might be doing it, Cousin 
Greta had not agreed with him. 

J oey set to work to see if she could remember 
the signalling; if the Professor were really keen 
on it, and went on being in the pleasant temper 
he had shown to-night, perhaps she might ask 
him some questions. 

Dash, dash, dash, dot, dot. She went through 
the alphabet; there were no letters like that; 
then it must be a numeral. John had taught 
those as well. The long numerals were the ones 
he had insisted on, because he thought it made 
things so slow to have to signal f — i — before you 
sent a numeral. 

Dot, dot, dot, dash, dash — Joey had it: it 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 


171 


was three. And immediately after it — a pause 
between — dot, dash, dash, dash, dash — 31. 
Thirty-one. That had been all. The other sig- 
nal had been an answer, and that was a good 
deal more puzzling. For surely dot, dash, dash, 
dash, stood for J and dot-dash for A, and yet Ja 
had no sense. J oey supposed she must have for- 
gotten the alphabet, and went to sleep at last, 
trying to remember. 

The play influenced her dreams more strongly 
than the signalling. It acted itself again through 
her sleep, only it refused to act itself straight- 
forwardly. Everything and everyone seemed to 
stick and repeat, including Noreen — so ready of 
tongue. Her German, which Joey, who had 
never learnt any, had so admired last night, had 
quite deserted her; the only word she seemed able 
to make use of was Ja. No “Tod und Teufels.” 
No “Ach Himmels.” She said, “Ja! ja!” and 
that was all, and then the dressing-bell sounded, 
and Clara the housemaid came in with a clatter 
of cans, and it was morning. 

Joey was sleepy, and did not get up till the 
last possible minute ; and then it meant a frantic 
scramble to get dressed in time, and no chance of 
talking to the others. 

As it was, she was just a moment late, but 
grace had not yet been said, for the girls were 
still standing round the tables, so she hoped to 


172 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


escape the order mark which was her due. She 
slid noiselessly into her place, and then became 
aware that Miss Conyngham was speaking — 
Miss Conyngham, who never appeared at break- 
fast, but had it in a stately manner, befitting 
Head Mistresses, in her own room. She was 
standing at the top of the long centre table, where 
Ingrid and other great seniors sat, and there was 
a little line drawn between her eyebrows, as 
though she were worried. She was evidently in 
the middle of a sentence. Joey listened, trying 
to make out what it was all about. 

“. . . And when Professor Trouville went to 
the Lab before breakfast this morning some- 
body had been there, breaking bottles, mixing 
specimens, and doing other acts of altogether 
stupid and unreasonable mischief. The door was 
as usual locked; the girl, whoever she was, had 
got in at the window by the steps, which Pro- 
fessor Trouville had for once left open. That 
being so, I quite exonerate the juniors; no girl 
under thirteen could scramble up to that window. 
Professor Trouville tells me that he has had 
trouble with several of the girls in Remove II. 
B ; if any girl there has done this wrong and fool- 
ish thing, it is up to her to own it now — for 
the honour of a school which does not turn out 
cowards.” 

There was a thrilling pause, while Miss Con- 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 


173 


yngham’s far-seeing eyes looked round expect- 
antly, and the Professor stood just behind her, 
silent, watchful, impassive, with half-closed lids. 
Miss Conyngham seemed to have no doubt that 
somebody was going to speak — a little of the 
colour faded from her face and the light from her 
eyes, when there came only silence. 

“I trust the girl who has done this thing to 
tell us now,” she said. 

And still there was silence. 

Miss Conyngham’s face grew a little stern. 
“If any girl here knows anything of the matter, 
though not herself responsible, I wish her to 
speak out.” 

Still silence. The Professor whispered some- 
thing to Miss Conyngham; she shook her head, 
then spoke to the senior mistress present: 

“Breakfast had better go on now, Miss Wres- 
tow ; I will deal with this matter later.” 

She went out, followed by the Professor. 

“What on earth is the matter?” Joey whis- 
pered, squeezing hastily into a place by Noreem 
“Something happened to the Lab — what luck 
for you stinks people! You won’t be able to do 
any.” 

Noreen was rather cross. “Don’t be such a 
young silly; don’t you see this is going to be a 
horrid plague for us ? That old beast has put the 
Head on to Remove II. B just because he 


174 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


doesn’t like me, I believe, and of course we’re sus- 
pected. You heard what Miss Conyngham said.” 

“But who’s done what?” 

“Somebody’s got in and smashed some of his 
hateful old things there; I should think the cat 
as likely as not ; but of course he fastens it on to 
us. Just like him. As if I’d go and do a silly 
kid’s trick like that !” 

“Of course you wouldn’t. It’s a shame,” com- 
forted Joey. “But of course the Head would 
never think so. S’pose she just had to ask. 
When does he think we did it?” 

“Last night. He thought we were excited 
about the play and aiming it at him, and some- 
body went in and did it after we were supposed 
to be in bed.” 

“But he was there himself much later than 
that,” almost shouted Joey. “I saw him out of 
my window.” 

“Well, he is the limit, then. Let’s tell Gabby 
that.” 

The information was passed up to Gabrielle 
at the other end of the table; she came round 
to the other two the minute breakfast was over. 
“What’s this, Joey?” 

J oey began upon the story of last night, but 
hadn’t got far in it before Ingrid Latimer bore 
down upon the group. “Joey Graham, where 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 


175 


are you? You are to go to Miss Conyngham at 
once. She told me so before she went.” 

“Oh, bother! Just when you were telling us,” 
Noreen broke out. “Cut along, and do hurry. 
I shall burst if I don’t know the rest before First 
Lesson.” 

J oey ran, arriving at Miss Conyngham’s door 
in a decidedly breathless condition. 

Miss Conyngham was there with the Professor. 
He was speaking, but stopped as Joey came in. 
J oey had an idea that behind his pale, impassive 
face he was very angry. 

“Jocelyn,” said Miss Conyngham gravely, “I 
want to ask you one or two questions by your- 
self.” 

“Yes, Miss Conyngham,” Joey answered 
wonderingly. 1 

“Have you gone outside at night? Think be- 
fore you speak.” 

That question did not need thinking about; 
Joey remembered that home-sick first night far 
too vividly to hesitate. “Yes, Miss Conyngham.” 

“When?” 

“The first night I was here. I got out on the 
roof; didn’t Matron tell you I spoilt my quilt? 
She jolly well takes care to go on telling me ” 

“Answer only my questions, please. You got 
out on the roof that first night. For what rea- 
son?” 


176 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Joey could not say that Noreen, Syb, and Bar- 
bara had been horrid to her; she turned red and 
hesitated. The Professor glanced quickly at 
Miss Conyngham. 

“For what reason, Jocelyn?” 

“Oh, just I wanted to. Of course, I didn’t 
know it was going to rain on my quilt.” 

“Never mind the quilt. How often have you 
done it since?” 

“Never, Miss Conyngham.” 

The Professor’s black eyebrows lifted just a 
shade. Joey saw them and felt angry. Didn’t he 
believe her? 

“You are quite sure of that, Jocelyn?” 

“Yes — honour.” 

“Last night,” Miss Conyngham said slowly, 
her eyes on Joey’s face, “the Professor saw a 
girl, a tall, slim girl in a short frock, climb in at 
the window of the Laboratory sometime after you 
were all supposed to be in bed, but before the 
servants had locked up. He was not near enough 
to be quite sure about her — but this morning he 
found this handkerchief under the window.” 

She held out the handkerchief — a small blue- 
bordered one, rather grubby. Joey’s name, in 
Mums’ marking-ink, stared up at her from one 
comer It was certainly hers — it was, in fact, the 
handkerchief she had used last night ; she remem- 
bered drying her hands with it after helping Bar- 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 


177 


bara to carry the cauldron of boiling water across 
the stage. She had thrust it back into her sleeve, 
she remembered, when Noreen demanded she 
should tell the audience how many syllables the 
charade had. 

“Yes; it’s mine all right — but I don’t know 
how it got there,” she said, staring at it. 

“Is there anything that you would like to say 
to me quite alone?” Miss Conyngham asked her. 

“You don’t think I went to the Lab when I’ve 
said I didn’t? I don’t tell lies,” Joey flared. 

“No, I believe your word of honour, Jocelyn,” 
Miss Conyngham said, and she looked very 
straight at the Professor. 

Joey heaved a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s all 
right. Thanks awfully. Do you want me any 
more. Miss Conyngham, or can I go now? For 
Noreen and Gabby are frightfully keen to hear 
about the things I saw last night.” 

She turned to the Professor. “I say, were you 
walking round the place all the time between 
ten and twelve? You must have got wet! If it 
had been one of us, we’d have caught it from 
Matron for staying out in the rain.” 

“What do you talk of? I picked up the hand- 
kerchief, suspecting not-ting, and returned to the 
Lodge,” the Professor said annihilatingly. “It 
was not till I visit the Laboratory to make a 
leetle experiment this morning, that I find my 


178 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


eyes haf not deceive me — and then I looked at the 
name on the handkerchief, and learn who do me 
this injury.” 

‘Tve told Miss Conyngham I didn’t go into 
the Lab,” Joey declared, growing angry in her 
turn. “I haven’t been near the place since you 
were so frightfully cross with me for tidying the 
day I came. And youmeedn’t be surprised that 
I thought you were walking about all that time, 
for you were there at twelve, when you were sig- 
nalling. I saw you. I dare say you came back 
to do it — only, it was a natural thing for me to 
think, wasn’t it? — not rudeness, like doubting a 
person’s word. I’m sorry if Tve been rude, 
though; and I think you signal splendidly — so 
jolly fast. I couldn’t keep up with you.” 

The Professor made a contemptuous gesture 
with his hands, stained and blunted at the finger- 
tips. 

“She dreams, this child. I haf no knowledge 
of the signalling. * But for the other matter, 
Madame, may I ask that you will question fur- 
ther?” 

“No, Professor, I shall not do that,” Miss 
Conyngham said firmly. “Jocelyn has given me 
her word of honour that she had no hand in the 
matter, and I trust my girls. Someone else 
must have taken her handkerchief by accident. 
I need hardly tell you that I shall look most 


THE COURT-MARTIAL 179 

carefully into the business and discover the cul- 
prit; but I cannot act as you suggest, or disbe- 
lieve the word of a child who has always shown 
herself truthful. Jocelyn, you may go; I am 
satisfied with what you have told me; but until 
the mystery is cleared up there will be no leave 
out for any Redlands girl, and you may tell the 
girls so.” 

“Not for the match?” cried Joey, in dismay. 

“Not for the match; except, of course, for the 
players,” Miss Conyngham said quite decidedly. 
“Someone is behaving like a dishonourable cow- 
ard, and until she owns up the whole school must 
be punished. That will do, Jocelyn.” 

The Professor made a quick step towards Miss 
Conyngham. His expression made Joey think 
of the day he had found her trying to perform 
the duties of a “scholarship kid.” 

“If the word of the young lady is to be taken 
before mine, Miss' Conyngham, I must ask you 
of your goodness to seek another Professor of 
Chemistry,” he said. “And it would be much 
to my convenience if you could find him by the 
end of dis vairy month, since your young ladies 
here haf no desire to learn of me — and I there- 
fore receive insults on all sides. . . .” 

“Run away, Jocelyn,” Miss Conyngham or- 
dered, and Joey obeyed of course, though it was 
a tantalising moment to be ordered out. Would 


180 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Miss Conyngham and the Professor make friends 
again, she wondered, or would she accept his res- 
ignation and let him leave them as he asked to do 
by the end of the month ? 

The end of the month — why, that would be 
the 31st, of course. Joey thought of Noreen’s 
words, “We’re living in a mystery.” Noreen 
had been joking, but it began to look as though 
her joking words were coming true. 

It was then it occurred to her that the minute 
the ban on going out was removed, the person 
to consult was John. But meantime the school 
was under arrest and the culprit had still to be 
found. Joey made her way back to the others, 
and announced Miss Conyngham’s depressing 
ultimatum on the way to Remove II. B class- 
room. By Break the whole school knew it, and 
the Head of the Upper School and the Head of 
the Lower met for a council of war. 


CHAPTER XVI 


The Eye of the Match 

I T was the thirtieth of October, the eve of 
the great match between the “Lines Ladies” 
and Redlands. 

Ordinarily all Redlands would have been in 
a perfect fizzle of excitement; the Team was 
strong, the best, so Miss Lambton and the coach 
agreed, that Redlands had run for the past six 
years ; and the weather was perfect, fine and dry 
and windy, so that the field at Deeping Royal 
was safe to be in the best of all possible condi- 
tions for the match. 

But despite all this, gloom reigned through- 
out Redlands, from Ingrid down to little Tid- 
dles ; who, although she could not understand the 
issues, could at least understand that her adored 
Joey was sad. 

Miss Conyngham had not budged one inch 
from her pronouncement, in spite of all that the 
College dared to urge. The Professor had seen 
a girl climbing in at the window of the Lab, and 
yet no girl had come forward to own to it. Until 
the culprit gave herself up voluntarily, the whole 
181 


182 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


school must be under punishment. And the 
punishment was “gating” at all times except the 
walks in “croc.” That meant that no Redlands 
girl, with the exception of the Team, who natur- 
ally must be exempt, could go to the great match. 

The College groaned and conjectured and 
groaned again. It gave Miss Conyngham up 
as a bad job; gentle though she was, she was 
harder to move than “Maddy” with her austere 
manner, or Miss Wrestow, the senior mistress, 
with her strict views on discipline. It tackled 
understanding people, like Miss Craigie and Miss 
Lambton, and implored intervention. But noth- 
ing made any difference; Miss Conyngham had 
given her ultimatum, and by that the school had 
to abide. Until the culprit gave herself up, the 
whole of Redlands was under the ban. 

Joey sometimes wondered if she were still sus- 
pected, in spite of her emphatic denial and Miss 
Conyngham’s apparent acceptance of it. She 
knew that the Professor had suspected her; In- 
grid had been sure that he whispered her name 
to Miss Conyngham when she came in late on 
that dreadful morning, and the look in his eyes 
had been so vindictive, Ingrid said, that he must 
have really wanted to get her severely punished, 
perhaps even sent away. Ingrid had been very 
indignant about it, and championed Joey so pub- 


THE EVE OF THE MATCH 183 


licly that no one in the College would have dared 
to doubt her. 

Besides at first everyone was sure that the 
clearing up of the mystery was only a matter 
of a few hours, or, at the most, a few days. 
Ingrid called a meeting of the Upper School; 
Gabrielle of the Lower. Both pointed out with 
proper Head-Girl firmness that the offender was 
bound in honour to come forward — and no one 
did ! And that second half of October went slip- 
ping away, with the College still under its ban 
and the mystery unsolved. 

The suspense began to get upon everybody’s 
nerves, and excitable people started to cast ac- 
cusations about, more or less wildly. It did no 
good, and only wore still thinner the already thin 
patience of the girls. And the thirtieth came, 
and still the criminal was undiscovered and the 
College paying in bitterness of spirit for her 
silence. 

Joey was trying to forget the trouble in the 
kindergarten with the babies. They, in especial 
little Tiddles, were always so proud and pleased 
to have her there that she snatched half an hour 
with them whenever she could manage it, despite 
the remonstrances of Noreen, Syb, and Barbara, 
who thought her tastes eccentric and “not the 
thing” for Remove II. B. 

Of course they could not be expected to realise 


184 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


that Joey missed Kirsty and Bingo quite badly 
sometimes, for the public attitude of Redlands 
towards juniors at one’s home was studiously de- 
tached. Syb wrote to her small sister every 
week, Joey knew, and sent her a present costing 
three weeks’ pocket-money on her birthday, but 
when asked about her didn’t know whether she 
was nine or ten, and could only state vaguely 
that she “believed it wasn’t a bad sort of kid.” 

So Joey refrained from saying too much about 
Kirsty and Bingo, but stuck firmly to her friend- 
ship with the kindergarten people all the same. 

When Noreen burst into the kindergarten 
play-room during the half-hour between tea and 
prep, Joey only thought her friend had come to 
drag her away, and went on defiantly with 
“Oranges and Lemons.” 

But instead of the good-natured jeer which 
she expected, Noreen spoke quite hoarsely: 

“Come along, Joey; I want you.” 

Joey looked at her. Noreen was very white, 
and her blue eyes were blazing. Clearly some- 
thing was very wrong. 

“I want you,” she repeated. “Do leave the 
babies and come along.” 

There was an expostulatory wail from the lit- 
tle ones. J oey turned round and hugged Tiddles, 
who was nearest to her, clinging to her djibbah 
in readiness for the tug of war. 


THE EVE OF THE MATCH 185 


“I can’t stop now, darling; but I’ll tell you 
what, I’ll come after tea to-morrow, as we can’t 
go to the match.” 

Tiddles released her unwillingly, and Noreen 
seized her arm and dragged her off at once. 

“What is the matter?” Joey asked, as soon as 
they were outside the room and out of hearing 
of the babies. 

Noreen gave a short laugh. 

“You’ll never guess. It. is about the limit. 
Here have Doris Redburn and Roma Kirke 
been insinuating that it was I who broke into the 
Lab.” 

“What? You!” gasped Joey. 

“They said I was always grousing about 
stinks and saying how I hated the Professor — 
of course, that’s a true bill. And they said I 
didn’t care what rows I got into. That’s a true 
bill as well. I don’t care. I rather wish I had 
done that Lab business — only Gabrielle is so stuf- 
fy about things like that — but if I had, I simply 
covldnt hold my tongue and have the whole Coll 
punished, even if telling meant getting expelled.” 

“Of course you couldn’t,” Joey burst out, fu- 
rious for her friend. “Who are saying it — Doris 
and Roma? I’ll just go and tell them what I 
think about their hateful untruthful cheek. ...” 

“No, stop!” Noreen cried, catching her arm 
as she whirled by. “It’s no good just going 


186 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


for those two — they say lots of girls think it. 
Wonder if Miss Conyngham does too?” 

“ ’Course not!” said Joey hotly. “She’d jolly 
well know you couldn’t be a mean outsider, what- 
ever else you might be. But I do wish the Pro- 
fessor hadn’t gone and stirred her up like this. 
If he hadn’t been so cock-sure he saw a girl, it 
might have been supposed to be the cat.” 

Noreen groaned. 

“It’s pretty beastly anyway. One of our 
crowd is behaving like a rotten outsider, and her 
rotten outsiderishness is being fastened upon me. 
It is rough luck.” 

Joey had never seen her cheerful and incon- 
sequent friend half so “down”; she was dread- 
fully distressed. 

“Let me just go for that Doris girl — she’s 
much the worst,” she suggested. 

“What’s the good?” asked Noreen dejectedly. 

She put her arm through Joey’s, and they be- 
gan to walk up and down the broad gravel path 
between the house and the Lab. 

“Why on earth couldn’t the Professor go to 
bed and stay there, instead of messing round and 
spoiling the hockey-match for us all? I’m jolly 
glad he’s leaving at the end of the month,” she 
concluded vindictively; “but he’s done the harm 
by now.” 

“If only he hadn’t been so sure about the 


THE EVE OF THE MATCH 187 


girl,” J oey repeated, frowning. “It’s that makes 
Miss Conyngham so stiff about it — otherwise 
she’d just take our words.” 

“I think she ought to, anyway. Just think 
of the match, and Redlands perhaps pulling it 
off for the first time for six years, and not one 
of us there!” 

“P’r’aps the girl will own up in time,” Joey 
suggested, but not hopefully. 

Noreen shook her head. 

“Not she. She would have done it long ago if 
she meant to. She’s probably a beastly slacker, 
who doesn’t care two pins about hockey. . . .” 

“Nor the Coll,” Joey added gloomily. 

“I’ve a good mind to go to the match after all 
— are you game, Joey?” Noreen said suddenly. 
“Oh yes, I know there’ll be the father and 
mother, not to mention the aunts and uncles of 
a good old row; but one may just as well be 
hanged for a sheep as a lamb. If they’re going 
to suspect me of beastly things like this ” 

Noreen was driven rather desperate; that was 
clear. Joey held on tighter to her arm, as though 
she expected her to bolt off there and then. 

“It would be heavenly, Noreen; but we can’t 
— you know we can’t. Besides, everyone’s dying 
to go.” 

“If I could get hold of that skunk of a girl!” 
growled Noreen, and then her eyes lit up again 


188 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


with a dangerous gleam. “Tell you what, Joey; 
I’ve a precious good mind to say I did do it after 
all; and then the others will be allowed to go 
anyway.” 

“Noreen!” gasped Joey. 

“Oh, of course. I shall tell Miss Conyngham 
that I didn’t — afterwards — when it’s too late to 
matter. You’re right about the other thing; it 
would be rather skunkish when everyone is dying 
to go. But I’d give them the chance this way. 
Oh, I know it’s an awful thumper, but they 
shouldn’t put it into my head by hinting that I 
did the crime and lay low.” 

“No one would believe you did it,” Joey 
urged, grasping at a straw. “No one to count, 
at least — who cares for silly idiots like Doris and 
Roma?” 

“Wouldn’t they? I’ve got a truly Irish repu- 
tation here.” 

“Well, no one could believe you wouldn’t tell 
for a whole fortnight when everyone was being 
punished, anyway.” 

“Doris and Roma hinted that quite a lot of 
people found it easy enough to believe,” Noreen 
said bitterly. “No, shut it, Joey; I’ve settled, 
I’m going to do it. You ought to be pleased; 
you’ll be able to go to your cousin’s again — didn’t 
you say they’d asked you for Sunday?” 

“Don’t be a pig, Noreen!” 


THE EVE OF THE MATCH 189 


“Pax, old thing, I didn’t mean it. Of course, 
you won’t like my doing it, I know; but it is a 
way out. Get Gabrielle to take Syb for her 
other friend if she will; Syb’s wild to go. . . .” 

“Noreen, will you promise, honour! not to 
go telling Miss Conyngham you were the one 
till after Prep at least?” poor Joey urged in des- 
peration. “Oh, do promise, Noreen.” 

“What’s the good of waiting, you cuckoo?” 

“Oh, the real girl might speak — or I might 
find a way out.” 

“The cheek of you ! Because you got a scholar- 
ship, you think ...” 

“Oh, talk sense, Noreen; of course I don’t. 
Only I might find a way. Promise !” 

“Righto. Till after Prep, then, but not a 
minute longer. Understand.” 

Noreen disengaged her arm, and departed 
hastily. Joey stood still considering. Every- 
thing that was in her revolted against Noreen’s 
plan; and yet what was there to do? Even her 
inherent hopefulness found it hard to believe that 
ihe culprit would come forward at this eleventh 
hour, and if she didn’t — the guests of the Team 
were all held up for the match, and the gating 
of the whole College might go on for an indefinite 
period — possibly even to the end of the term. 

Joey had herself already realised the practical 
drawbacks of the punishment: she had received 


190 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


a particularly kind letter from Cousin Greta 
asking her for the day next Sunday, and Miss 
Conyngham had said, “Write and decline.” 

Of course it was nothing in comparison with 
the match; still, now Cousin Greta had been so 
nice and understanding about her reprehensible 
proceedings on the former visit, she would have 
quite liked to go again. Besides, she wanted to 
ask John about the Professor’s signalling. And 
yet to allow Noreen to tell a lie and accuse her- 
self of an act of unforgivable meanness — that 
couldn’t be right. 

Joey looked up at the Lab; if only the Pro- 
fessor had not been so wide awake that night! 
She supposed he was quite sure of what he saw ; 
after all, it was a very dark night. And then 
there came to Joey the bold thought of going to 
ask the Professor if he were really quite sure. 
He was in the Lab ; she could see his head mov- 
ing between wall and window, and there would 
be just time before the bell rang for Prep. Joey 
made one dart for the steps, and hammered at 
the door. 

“Please, it’s not anyone come to worry you 
when you’re busy,” she called out. “I’m Joey 
Graham, and I want to ask something dreadfully 

important, but it will only take about half a 

>> 

sec. 

There were steps inside the Lab ; a key turned, 


THE EVE OF THE MATCH 191 


the door opened. The Professor stood there be- 
fore her, dressed in the long white linen coat he 
wore when he was working. The violet hand- 
kerchief protruded from one pocket. 

“May I come in just a moment?’’ Joey asked 
humbly. “I want to ask you ...” 

“I am very busy,” the Professor told her, in 
no very promising voice. 

“Well, but it’s frightfully important,” Joey 
tumbled out in desperate haste for fear he should 
shut the door in her face. “If I could help you 
clearing up or anything like that after, to make 
up for wasting your time now, I would like a 
shot if you’d let me, but ...” 

“Ah, it is of course the scholarship girl that 
tink she has the duty to tidy here,” said the Pro- 
fessor. His temper seemed to have suddenly im- 
proved. “You may come in, and tell me vat it 
is you vish to say.” 

Joey came in. Even in that supreme moment 
she noticed that the Lab looked very much as 
though it needed tidying. The Professor saw her 
glance. 

“Dere is so much that I must do to make all 
in readiness for my successor,” he said blandly. 

“Is he coming at once?” Joey asked. 

“In two, tree days after I have left; I go 
away to-morrow, and, ma foi! I tink I must 
be again up ’alf de night to prepare the Lab for 


192 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 

him. So if you tink you see me signalling 
again ...” 

“I shan’t be startled,” Joey finished for him. 
“But I wasn’t really before — it’s only Tiddles 
and babies like that who are frightened of you, 
and they’re so little, you know; they can’t help 
it. But I wanted to ask you about that night — 
it was jolly dark, you know; that’s partly why 
your signalling was so beautifully plain — do you 
think you might just possibly have been mistaken 
. . . about the girl you saw? . . .” 

“You tink I make de lie, hein?” the Professor 
asked. 

“Oh no , of course not,” Joey assured him in 
a great hurry. “You’re French, you know, and 
French people would be just as much the soul of 
honour as English, of course. It’s only Huns 
who tell lies, one knows. Only it was a very dark 
night, and Redlands girls always have owned up 
about things before — and it’s so desperate about 
being stopped from the match and all, you know, 
that Noreen O’Hara — the one whom you call 
‘Fathead’ in Stinks Class — is going to say she 
did it, though she didn’t, for the sake of the rest 
and one can’t let her do that, can one?” 

“An’ I am to prevent Mees O’Hara from tell- 
ing de lie — by the vay, it seems it is not only 
Huns dat do dat after all — by telling Mees Con- 


THE EVE OF THE MATCH 193 


yngham that I consider myself mistake’?” the 
Professor said slowly. 

“Of course not, if you’re dead sure about the 
girl,” Joey corrected miserably. “Only, it was 
dark, wasn’t it? I was looking out of my win- 
dow all the time, so I know how dark it was ; and 
if you said you weren’t quite sure, I know Miss 
Conyngham would rather believe a Redlands girl 
wasn’t a mean outsider.” 

The Professor lifted his heavy lids and looked 
at her. 

“You are a good pleader, Mees Joey Graham. 
So you looked from your bedroom for long and 
tink it too dark for me to see clear. I will go to 
Mees Conyngham now — and tell ’er dat I may 
’ave been mistake’ — on one condition — dat you 
do as you offer a while back and come to-morrow 
to ’elp me tidy de Lab. Ees dat a bargain? since 
I waste my time on preventing your Mees Nor- 
een make de lie.” 

“Rather!” Joey cried joyfully. “I say, you 
are a good sort, and you shall just see how I’ll 
tidy to-morrow. I suppose you wouldn’t like me 
to bring Gabrielle and Noreen as well? I’m sure 
they would be most awfully pleased.” 

“No!” the Professor said sharply. “Bring no 
one, and tell no one. I do not want children run- 
ning in and out; they disturb me.” 


194 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“All right,” Joey promised joyfully. “When 
shall I come?” 

“At twelve, when you haf finished lessons, 
n J est-ce pas V* the Professor said, quite pleasantly 
for him, and Joey, with a heartfelt “Thank you,” 
flew for her classroom at her best speed, arriv- 
ing late, in company with two or three other 
laggards. 

“Really, Jocelyn Graham, and you, Berna- 
dine and Rhoda, you are too bad,” Miss Lamb- 
ton said indignantly. “Why can’t you listen for 
the bell, instead of coming in late and disturbing 
us all in this way? Take a Rule, all three of 
you ; and don’t let it happen again.” 

The “Sorry, Miss Lambton,” which Joey mur- 
mured was conventional entirely. She was 
not sorry at all, for she had a glorious convic- 
tion that the deed was done, and the College 
cleared. 

Bernadine, Rhoda, and herself were kept be- 
hind, when Prep was over, to receive a short but 
stringent lecture from Miss Lambton on the need 
of punctuality, and so did not go out to dress 
with the rest. But the attention which Joey was 
endeavouring to give to Miss Lambton was much 
interfered with by conjectures, and scattered 
altogether by a sound that came a minute or 
two later down to Classroom Remove II. B — 
a sound of cheering. 


THE EVE OF THE MATCH 195 


Louder it grew and louder, as girls came pour- 
ing in from their different classrooms. 

“What can be happening ?” Miss Lambton in- 
terrupted herself to ask. 

The three sinners took the question for a signal 
of dismissal. They ran. 

A great throng of girls, growing larger every 
moment, was congregated in the hall, cheering 
wildly. Squeezing past smaller girls, and under 
the elbows of seniors, Joey arrived somehow in 
the front rank. 

A large notice faced her — a notice on which 
the ink was hardly dry: 

“In consequence of information received, 

Miss Conyngham withdraws the ban on 

Redlands. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Tricked 

J OEY was up next morning with a punctu- 
ality that highly exasperated the other oc- 
cupants of Blue Dorm. But in the face of so 
much excitement, she would have found it al- 
most impossible to stay in bed, even if she had 
not wanted to telephone to Cousin Greta before 
breakfast, to ask if after all she might go to her 
on Sunday. 

Miss Conyngham had given gracious permis- 
sion for the use of the ’phone overnight, and if 
Joey was to be at the Lab at 12, she would not 
have a minute to spare, most likely, till the match 
was over. And this was Saturday. 

She leaned far out of her window first thing 
to see if the weather was smiling on the all-im- 
portant match. It was quite fine and clear, with 
a sky that looked a long way off slightly flecked 
with fine mares’ tails, and a sea that seemed com- 
paratively near, lying silver grey on the lumi- 
nous horizon. 

“Oh, get back to bed,” groaned Noreen, from 
196 


TRICKED 


197 


half under the bedclothes; but Joey got up, all 
the same, and dashed downstairs to the ’phone. 

The housemaids had just finished with Miss 
Conyngham’s room and were sweeping the hall; 
Joey shut the door to get away from the dust 
and noise, and asked for Colonel Sturt’s number 
at the Exchange. 

She got it; but it was an unfamiliar voice that 
answered her: 

“Her ladyship is not yet down, and cannot be 
disturbed.” 

“Is Miss Grace there?” asked Joey. 

“Miss Grace is not yet down.” 

“Is anybody?” Joey asked, hoping sincerely 
that she would not be obliged to talk to Colonel 
Sturt. 

“Mr. John is, miss; would you wish to speak to 
him?” 

“Please,” Joey said, relieved; and a minute 
later heard the heavy thump of crutches, and a 
decorous voice saying, “A young lady to speak 
to you, sir.” 

Joey squeezed the receiver vigorously. “That 
you, John? It’s Joey speaking. Can you really 
walk about now ? How topping !” 

“Yes, rather — I’m getting along fine with 
crutches,” was John’s cheerful answer. “I say, 
why can’t you come on Sunday, young ’un? 
You’ll find Gracie quite different this time. . . .” 


198 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“I can come now, if Cousin Greta doesn’t mind 
my changing,” Joey explained. “The Coll got 
gated, and now it’s un-gated, that’s all; and I’m 
going to the match at Deeping Royal this after- 
noon, and I’d like to come over to you to-morrow 
no end if I may, and tell you about it.” 

“Righto. I’ll tell my aunt. She’ll be awfully 
pleased. You may take it she’ll fetch you for 
lunch. I say, like to do some more signalling?” 

“Oh yes, J ohn. Do you know our Stinks Pro- 
fessor here is frightfully good at that? I saw 
him the other night ...” 

“What? Don’t you go to bed at night at Red- 
lands?” 

“Of course, you stupid. The Professor was 
doing it at night, not me. I saw him out of my 
window.” 

“Signalling practice all by himself in the mid- 
dle of the night? Tell that to someone younger, 
my dear Kid.” 

Joey took no notice of the jeer. “John, isn’t 
dot, dash, dash, dash, J?” she demanded. 

“Yes, rather!” 

“And dot-dash is A?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then what does Ja spell?” 

“All by itself?” 

“All by itself.” 

“It’s the German for yes,” John told her, after 


TRICKED 


199 


a second’s pause. “But your Stinks man is 
French, isn’t he?” 

“Yes; Professor Trouville.” 

“Was that all his signalling you saw?” 

“That wasn’t his signalling.” 

“Whose was it?” 

“I don’t know. It seemed to come from a 
long way off.” 

“You said the Professor signalled?” 

“Yes; he did first.” 

“What?” 

“It seemed like 31.” 

“Thirty-one?” 

“Yes.” 

“Funny — that’s to-day,” John said. “Joey.” 

“Yes.” 

“I think you had better come over here; I’ll 
ask Cousin Greta to send for you. Come to-day, 
I mean, and not wait for to-morrow.” 

“John? I can’t to-day — it’s the ma+ch.” 

“Well, I’ll take you on to it in the car.” 

“It’s frightfully nice of you — but, you see, I 
was going with Gabby and Noreen, my specialist 
friends.” 

“I’ll ask Aunt Greta to ask the whole boiling 
of you to lunch then,” John said, impatiently. 
“So long, Joey. I can’t tell you any more till I 
know it myself. But you come along if you’re 
sent for.” 


f 


200 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“But, John, I can’t come to lunch, because 
I’ve promised to tidy the Lab,” Joey began, and 
then stopped, because she had been rung off. She 
went in to breakfast, feeling very doubtful 
whether she wanted to go to lunch at Mote to- 
day, even with the company of Noreen and Ga- 
brielle. It would be much more fun to go with 
the Team, and it was more than possible that 
Cousin Greta might not see the great importance 
of being in time for the match. 

Then Miss Conyngham made an announce- 
ment at breakfast that made her absolutely sure 
she did not want to go. 

“I am glad to know that it seems possible I 
suspected a Redlands girl unjustly,” Miss Con- 
yngham said in the clear voice that reached with- 
out effort to every comer of the big refectory. 

“Because I am so glad and thankful that I 
was mistaken, I wish to give the College an es- 
pecial treat, and therefore arranged last night by 
’phone that enough brakes should be here by 1.15 
to-day to take the whole six hundred of us to 
Deeping Royal — to see, we hope, Redlands pull 
it off against the Lines Ladies.” 

Miss Conyngham might have had more to say, 
but she was not allowed to say it. The whole 
school rose at her, and the cheering, as Noreen 
remarked afterwards, nearly smashed all the 
breakfast-cups on the table. Miss Conyngham 


TRICKED 


201 


had to hold up her hand twice for silence before 
she could mention that dinner would be at a 
quarter to one, promptly, to allow of a punctual 
start for Deeping Royal. 

“How absolutely topping of the Head,” 
Noreen whispered to Joey. “I say, I am glad 
you stopped me making an ass of myself last 
night. I believe she’s just as bucked about it 
as we are, really. Bags I next place to you, old 
thing, in our bus.” 

“I’m not going,” Joey explained mournfully. 

“Not going?” 

“Not with the rest, I mean. I’ve got to go 
to lunch with my cousin.” 

“What rot ! You can’t. Why, we should have 
no end of a time driving — you go quite close to 
the Stakes by the shore of the Wash.” 

Joey began to wish very acutely that she had 
rung up Mote again directly she was cut off, 
and explained that she couldn’t manage Satur- 
day. Only John had startled her just for a min- 
ute; he had seemed so oddly sure that she must 
come, and then the breakfast gong had gone, 
and it was too late. 

“Absolute rubbish,” Noreen persisted. “Gab- 
by, do you hear? Joey wants to lunch with her 
cousins and go with them instead of with us.” 

“I don’t want — at all,” poor Joey said. “Only 
— John seemed to want me . . .” 


202 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


‘‘The conceit of the kid,” laughed Barbara. 

“I mean he wanted me about signalling, I 
think,” Joey explained in a hurry. 

“Oh, tell him signalling must jolly well wait. 
Get the Head to let you ’phone,” advised Bar- 
bara, and Joey got up from table with every in- 
tention of taking her advice. But, when she 
found herself in the passage leading to Miss Con- 
yngham’s room, the rather urgent note in J ohn’s 
voice haunted her. He had seemed to think it 
mattered that she should come to lunch to-day, 
and he had been so very kind in teaching her to 
signal. And if for some odd inexplicable reason 
it should matter, it would be so poor and un- 
English to have stayed away just because it 
would be more fun going with the others. After 
all, Noreen, who was nearly a year older than 
herself, had suggested there was some mystery 
going; and though she had said it half jokingly, 
it might be true all the same. She must put up 
with the duller drive, and not even ask if Noreen 
and Gabrielle might come with her to Mote; it 
was quite clear they would not want to. Joey 
gave herself a little shake and marched up to Miss 
Conyngham’s door. 

“Please, Cousin Greta asked me to lunch to- 
day, at least John spoke, and they’ll send and 
take me to the match afterwards, if it’s all right,” 
she said, 


TRICKED 


208 


Miss Conyngham was very busy, and hardly 
looked up. J oey half hoped she would say “Why 
do they want you?” and then she would have ex- 
plained about the signalling, and the Head might 
have said it did not matter. As it was, she only 
glanced up from her papers for the fraction of a 
second. 

“Yes, you will enjoy that, Jocelyn. Get 
ready in good time ; don’t keep your cousin wait- 
ing. That will do.” 

J oey went back to the others to explain briefly 
to several disapproving friends that she had not 
asked the Head’s leave to decline the invitation. 

“You’re a silly juggins,” Noreen stated, with 
candour. “But if it’s done, it’s done, I suppose: 
the Head would never stand being bothered 
again. Only mind you’re not late — you’ll spoil 
the match for Gabrielle and me if you are, re- 
member.” 

“I won’t be,” Joey promised. 

She was off to the Lab on the stroke of twelve. 
She did not suppose that Cousin Greta would 
send for her till nearly 1.80, as her lunch was 
not till 1.45; but there had been a great deal 
of tidying to do, and she must leave ten minutes 
for getting into her best frock, and brushing hair 
and nails. There wasn’t a moment to lose. 

As she ran round the corner of the great 
house, she noticed that the mares’ tails of the 


204 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


morning were spreading fast over the sky. 
“ There’s going to be a lot of wind presently,” 
she thought, and that was all she did think about 
it just then, for the work she had to get done by 
1.15 was decidedly uppermost in her mind, 
mingled with that little under current of surprise 
that John should be so interested in the Profes- 
sor’s signalling. 

But just as she came within sight of the Lab 
she had to stop, for there was little Tiddles, walk- 
ing solemnly along by herself, not seeming to 
mind for once that she was near the Professor’s 
lair, and crying, not aloud as the babies did usu- 
ally, but with the tears rolling slowly down her 
tiny cheeks. 

In spite of her hurry Joey had to try and com- 
fort the poor mite. “What is it, darling?” 

Tiddles looked mournfully at her. “They 
won’t let me go this afternoon,” she said, with a 
sob. “They say Tiddles has a cold; but it will 
make her cold more ill to stay at home.” 

“Oh poor Tiddles!” sympathised Joey. 
“What frightfully hard lines. But I’ll tell you 
all about it afterwards, darling; and it is a long 
drive, you know, quite nine miles, and it gets 
awfully cold in the late afternoon.” 

“You could cuddle Tiddles tight in your arms, 
Jo-ey; then she would not catch cold,” Tiddles 
declared. 


TRICKED 


205 


“But I’m not going with the brakes, duckie, so 
I couldn’t hold you,” Joey said. 

“You are going to stay at home and play with 
Tiddles?” asked the mite, with dawning hope. 

J oey shook her head, though she felt very un- 
kind. “No, pet; but I’ll tell you everything — 
Honour! and play with you to-morrow instead.” 

“Won’t you play with her now, Jo-ey?” Tid- 
dles pleaded. She had a quaint way of speaking, 
as though she were a personality quite distinct 
from the Tiddles whom the College petted and 
treated as a baby. 

“I can’t, darling; I have to go in there,” Joey 
nodded in the direction of the Lab. “And you 
must let me go now, for I have to be busy.” 

Tiddles let go of her hand without a word, and 
stood looking after her with brimming eyes, but 
without actually crying. Joey felt a brute to 
leave her like that, but it had to be done. It was 
already nearly ten minutes past twelve ; the Pro- 
fessor would be waiting for her. 

He was. She saw that directly he unlocked the 
door to her, as quickly as though he had been 
standing just inside. His face was less impassive 
than usual, and it had a slightly yellowish look, 
while the eyes upon which Gabrielle had com- 
mented were strained. But the face relaxed a 
little at the sight of Joey. “You are late! I 
feared you would not come,” he said. 


206 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“I’m so sorry; I just got kept by poor little 
Tiddles — she was crying,” J oey explained. She 
did not wait to tell him why; the Professor did 
not care for children, and would not want to 
know she thought. 

“Ah, de Belgian baby dat fear me,” said the 
Professor, showing his teeth in a curious smile. 
“It is a strange idea you schoolgirls have of me, 
n'est’Ce pas? To one I am an expert signaller — 
to another a fierce ogre.” 

“We all think you were frightfully decent 
though to square it with Miss Conyngham,” 
Joey said, with conviction. “Do you know we 
are all going to the match — all the school! It’s 
never been known before.” 

“Yes, I know dat,” the Professor said. “You 
all go, mistresses and all at 1.15; except for 
you.” 

“Did you know I was going to my cousin’s?” 
Joey asked surprised. She had never thought 
Professor Trouville would take half so much in- 
terest in what the schoolgirls did. He had never 
seemed to think anything about them, except that 
they were very stupid at chemistry. 

However, she had no time for wondering. 
“Please, where would you like me to start tidy- 
ing?” she asked, looking round the big, untidy 
place. 


TRICKED 


207 


The Professor was bending over something on 
the table — a little square wooden box, into which 
he appeared to be fitting a small glass tube with 
care. He did not even look up. 

“I need many bottles from the closet,” he said. 

“Shall I get them?” asked Joey politely. 

She dived into the innermost recesses of the 
closet. As she did so she heard quick steps across 
the floor, and the closet door slammed, making 
the place quite dark 

Joey was startled by the suddeness of the slam 
and darkness; but she dared not move for fear 
of stumbling over the bottles that littered the 
floor. 

“Oh, please open the door — I can’t see any- 
thing,” she called, and as she called it the key 
turned in the lock. 

“Don’t do that, please; I’m inside,” she shouted 
at the top of her voice ; but even while she called 
that fact out confidently there was an unbeliev- 
able fear looking over her shoulder — she felt she 
would see it, if she turned her head — and the 
knowledge that the Professor knew she was there 
all the time, and had locked her in on purpose. 

She put all the courage that was in her into the 
effort to push that horrid thought away. 

“If you’re playing a trick on me, please stop 
it now, because there’s a lot of tidying and Miss 


208 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Conyngham will be fearfully vexed if I haven’t 
changed my frock before my cousin sends for 
me,” she urged. “They’ll look for me if I’m not 
there when the car comes.” 

She talked into thick darkness and silence. 
She could hear the Professor moving about the 
room, but he returned no answer at all. She 
spoke into a blank wall. 

The keyhole was still blocked with the key. 
She could see nothing, and what little she heard 
gave her no help at all. Still she tried hard to 
keep her end up. 

“I wish you’d stop it now and let me out,” she 
said firmly. “If it’s a joke you’ve had the best 
of it, and if it’s a punishment I should like to 
know what I’ve done. Anyhow, I don’t see stay- 
ing here.” 

The Professor came across to the closet; there 
was a little rattle, and the keyhole showed light. 
He had taken out the key, but he had not turned 
it. 

Joey darted to the door as soon as that little 
ray of pale wintry daylight showed her where 
it was. She saw the Professor busily engaged in 
fitting the little wooden box into a cigar case 
that seemed made for it. His white linen coat 
had covered a neat dark tweed suit of undoubt- 
edly English make ; his moustache was gone. 
She saw that in the moment before he walked 


TRICKED 


209 


quietly past the locked and keyless door of the 
dark closet, and out through the outer door of the 
Lab, which he locked behind him. Joey had seen 
that he was smiling a little. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


At Deeping Royal 

OOK, though amazingly capable, was not 



an absolute magician ; few people are. Per- 
haps it was not altogether astonishing, consider- 
ing that she had only received her orders last 
night when dinner had been duly ordered, that 
the meal was not on the table quite at 12.45. It 
was in fact seven minutes late — not an extraor- 
dinary delay considering the circumstances, but 
enough to make the meal a scramble, and every- 
body feel a little fussed. 

Noreen and Gabrielle had both meant to see 
Joey before she started, and impress on her the 
great importance of not allowing her cousin to 
start late for Deeping Royal. But Joey was not 
to be seen about the place when they put on coats, 
boots, and hats according to directions before 
lunch, in Remove II. Dressing-Room, and there 
was not a second to tear up to Blue Dorm, where 
she would be changing into her Sunday frock, 
when lunch was over. Everybody was bustled 
into the brakes in hot haste, with the exception of 
poor Tiddles, who was being consoled, however, 


210 


AT DEEPING ROYAL 


211 


by lunch with the housekeeper in her own room, 
and a liberal supply of sweet biscuits and almonds 
and raisins. 

“Rotten about Joey not coming with us,” 
grumbled Noreen, as the long procession of 
brakes wound down the drive. “I can’t think 
why she wanted to go to her cousin’s to-day of 
all days.” 

“She didn’t,” Gabrielle remarked. “Joey does 
a few things she doesn’t want.” 

“Well, it’s very tiresome she should do it to- 
day. I bet she’ll be late, and then she’ll have to 
stand somewhere at the back, and we shan’t be 
together at all.” 

“We could go back a little way to meet her,” 
suggested Gabrielle, “and then whatever hap- 
pens, we shall be together.” 

“Good egg! What luck you’re Lower School 
Head, Gabby! If it were me I should have to 
ask leave, and probably get it refused too,” 
Noreen whispered, for Miss Lambton was in the 
brake with them, and she was young and great 
on discipline, and was known to disapprove of 
some among the many concessions made to Ga- 
brielle’s exalted position. It was on the cards 
that, if she heard the plan, there would come an 
authoritative order to keep all together and not 
exert the privileges of Head of the Lower School. 

The drive was a long one, but no one in the 


212 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


whole school thought so for an instant. Besides 
the grand excitement of the match at the far 
end, the drive itself was so full of interest. 

After passing the station the long procession 
of brakes kept to the straight raised road for a 
couple of miles only, then began to wind down 
on to the broad road which spanned the Deeps. 

That road in itself spelt romance to the Red- 
lands girls. It was still christened Malfrey 
Street f though that Roger Malfrey, who had 
owned the chief interest in the flourishing town 
and harbour that had once made Deeping Royal 
a famous name in the region of the great Wash, 
and had sunk a fortune fend years and high hopes 
in the attempt to make a lasting road across the 
undrained fens, had gone — where effort that has 
failed may wear a brighter crown than fulfilment. 

Now, centuries later, sand and shoals had 
silted up the harbour, and of the old greatness 
of Deeping Royal nothing remained but the mag- 
nificent twin churches of St. Philip and St. 
James (once hardly able to contain all the wor- 
shippers of the place), and open fields that 
carried strange names — “Fishmarket Field,” 
“Mummers’ Square,” “Gold-Heart Street,” and 
so on. Of Deeping Royal proper there remained 
a straggling fishing village of, perhaps, five hun- 
dred souls. 

Malfrey Street ran in a line with the river for 


AT DEEPING ROYAL 


213 


three-quarters of its length. A quarter of a mile 
perhaps of Green Deeps separated the brimming, 
bankless river from the causeway that lifted it- 
self from the grass even as the river seemed try- 
ing to do. And both seemed making straight as 
a die for the sea. Then, when Redlands was 
some seven miles behind, river and road ap- 
peared to change their minds, and, twisting 
sharply, ran parallel with the flat, dreary shore 
for more than two miles, only a narrow strip of 
shingle dividing the sand from the road. On 
such a day as this the road was soft with the sand 
that blew over the shingle and settled on it, only 
to be whirled away and flung among the coarse 
grass that still struggled to grow between river 
and road — fighting for existence with sea-pinks 
and purple madder. 

The sand blew into the girls’ eyes and proved 
rather a bar to absolute enjoyment at this point. 
The mares’ tails of the morning were driving 
madly across a high, ragged sky; the wind had 
come with a vengeance. 

“Bother it!” growled Noreen, pushing her 
curly ends of hair out of her eyes for about the 
hundredth time. No plait that was made could 
keep Noreen’s curly hair in absolute order. 
“Hard luck on the teams to have such a wind as 
this.” 

“It’s equally bad for both, anyway,” Gabrielle 


214 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


remarked. “And I’d back our side for pluck 
anywhere.” 

Miss Lamb ton was looking uneasily at the sky. 
“I hope it won’t get much worse,” she said. 

But Gabrielle and Noreen had an optimistic 
spirit about a team captained by the great In- 
grid Latimer, and refused to be really depressed 
by the weather on their account. 

It was another fear which worried them. 

“Suppose that cousin of Joey’s thinks it’s too 
bad to play, and won’t send her?” Noreen whis- 
pered tragically. 

“I believe she’ll come somehow — trust her,” 
Gabrielle whispered back reassuringly. “Any- 
how, we’ll go as far as the reservoir, and see. 
If we climb up at the side of that we can get a 
splendid view.” 

By this time they were within a quarter of a 
mile of Deeping Royal. To their left was still 
the desolate shore, with the narrow strip of 
shingle separating them from it, but there was a 
great sense of nearness to the waves which the 
high wind was driving in big and threatening, 
with a crest of foam. 

Before them, crowning the slight rise on which 
the village stood, were the great twin churches, 
standing not a stone’s-throw apart, with their 
massive beacon-towers outlined sharply against a 
clear, wind-swept space in the sky. 


AT DEEPING ROYAL 


215 


Below them clustered the village, through 
which the procession of brakes drove up a rather 
steep street to the inn, which one reached through 
an incongruous ivy-hung gateway, bearing on 
one mouldering dim red pillar the name cut 
deeply “Good Hope.” 

The “sweet Anne Wendover,” whom Roger 
Malfrey had wooed in vain, because “the wasting 
sickness” wooed her more successfully, had lived 
there; and he must have ridden often through 
those great gates, which now stood wide to chars - 
a-hancs and brakes all the summer-time, and bore 
a large printed notice, “Teas provided.” 

“Joey would like this,” whispered Gabrielle, 
as the first brake rattled into the old court-yard, 
and stood beneath the new sign. 

“Yes, wouldn’t she? Queer how one misses 
the kid,” returned Noreen. “Specially queer 
when one remembers how we barred her coming 
from that twopenny-half-penny school.” 

“A man’s a man for a’ that,” quoted Gabrielle. 
“We were snobs.” 

“You weren’t anyway. Well, it’s over and 
done with. Hope she won’t be late.” 

“So do I,” observed Mademoiselle de Lavern- 
ais, with a suddenness which took the two rather 
aback. They had not realised that she was so 
near, or that she would take the smallest interest 
in their conversation, 


216 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


It had, in fact, been a surprise to everyone 
that “Maddy” should have come at all. She had 
never professed to take any interest in the school 
games, or in the life outside her classes. But 
she had turned up to-day at the hurried lunch, 
in her rusty black toque, and her coat and skirt 
of a cut belonging to some five years back, and 
had climbed into the same brake as Noreen and 
Gabrielle. 

The two turned to her politely as soon as she 
joined in their conversation. “May we see if 
we can get you a good place, Mademoiselle ?” 
Gabrielle asked; “and then we are going to try 
and keep one for Joey.” 

Mademoiselle smiled, her little tight-lipped 
smile, that seemed as though it were a thing stiff 
from disuse. 

“Thank you, my child; I am obliged. But I 
fear I do not come to view the match, though it 
will give much pleasure to hear of the success of 
Redlands, I assure you. But the hockey is to me 
a mystery, and I seek a sketch of this place that 
may remind me of the fen-land when I no more 
see it.” 

Noreen stared. “But — but — are you going 
away?” 

Mademoiselle smiled again. “Yes, after this 
term I return no more. So think no further of 
me, but watch for your friend.” 


AT DEEPING ROYAL 


217 


She detached a little field-glass case that was 
slung across her narrow shoulders. “Take these 
if you will, and you will see her from afar.” 

“But won’t you want them. Mademoiselle?” 
asked Gabrielle. 

“Not yet, my child; I shall sketch first. Pres- 
ently, if I can drag my old bones so far, I climb 
one of the twin towers that I may see the great 
view, which is to live in my heart also. You will 
bring them back before I need them. Adieu.” 

Gabrielle took the glasses gratefully. “Jolly 
decent of her,” she whispered to Noreen, as the 
procession of girls began to wind their way out of 
the inn-yard, and down through the village to- 
wards Fishmarket Field, where the great match 
was to be played. 

The wind was now terrifically high, a regular 
gale blowing straight from the sea. “Lucky they 
didn’t bring Tiddles; the poor mite would have 
been scared out of her senses by all those great 
waves so close,” Noreen said. “I wonder when 
high tide is, Gabby. It must be pretty near that 
now I should think.” 

Gabrielle looked out towards the sea. “I 
should think it must be. Someone told me high 
tide never comes beyond that bit of broken har- 
bour wall, and it’s up to it now.” 

“If it ever does come over, I should think Fish- 
market Square is an enormous puddle,” laughed 


218 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Noreen. “I don’t see any sign of the Lines 
Ladies in the field. Do you? Suppose we’re 
early.” 

Gabrielle looked at her watch. Noreen’s spent 
most of its time at the nearest jeweller’s being re- 
paired ! 

“Yes, nearly a quarter before time; we might 
have chased Joey to Blue Dorm after all. Let’s 
go along to meet her.” 

“One of the church towers would be a good 
place for sighting her,” suggested Noreen; “but 
then we shouldn’t be able to lay hold. So the 
road be it. Hope her cousin won’t want to hang 
on to her by the way; we don’t yearn to have 
the whole show tacked on to us.” 

“I don’t suppose she’ll come,” Gabrielle said; 
“Lady Greta, I mean. She’ll just send Joey in 
the car. She’ll know we shall bring her back all 
right.” 

“I see. We just grab Joey, and say, ‘Home, 
James,’ haughtily to the chauffeur. Come on.” 

They slipped away unnoticed from the throng 
of girls at the entrance to Fishmarket Field, 
and made the best of their pace to the road, set- 
ting out along it at a steady double. The reser- 
voir was nearly three-quarters of a mile away, 
but Noreen had come in first in the Hundred 
Yards Race for over-fourteens-under-sixteens at 
the College Sports in the summer, and Gabrielle 


AT DEEPING ROYAL 


219 


was a quick though not a lasting runner. The 
reservoir was reached in an easy six minutes; 
and they began to scramble up its high bank. 
The wind caught at their clothes; it seemed try- 
ing to whirl them bodily away. Noreen stopped 
for breath ; Gabrielle caught her arm. 

Then, “Try-the-other-side-against-the-wind,” 
she shouted ; “wind-might-blow-us-into-water- 
here.” 

Noreen had plenty of sense when she chose 
to use it; she nodded, and the two slithered 
down the rough brickwork, and dived around to 
the farther side so as to face that furious wind 
driving from the sea. They clambered up the 
bank, and Noreen, who reached the top first, 
crouched gasping and laughing, with her hat 
crushed under her arm, and her hair blowing 
wildly. 

“Oh, I shall be blown clean off,” she shouted 
down to her friend. “Come and help me hold 
on, Gabby; or give me Maddy’s glasses.” 

Gabrielle, who was wrestling with her hat, had 
no hand free, and Noreen leant down and 
snatched the glasses from her. 

“Yes, there’s a car,” she proclaimed. “Can’t 
see what it is, or how many people in; but it 
seems to be doing a sprint all right. Bother 
that cyclist in front — he gets in the way.” 


220 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“The car will catch him up directly though,” 
said Gabrielle. 

“It’s a motor-cycle, stupid! My word! 
They’re coming some pace.” 

“Which, the car people?” 

“Both. Come up and look. Your turn with 
the glasses. I’ll have just one more squint 
through them. My Sunday hat, and ...” 

“What is it?” demanded Gabrielle, scrambling 
up in a hurry, for Noreen had broken off short in 
her favourite ejaculation, as though she were al- 
most too surprised to speak. “Isn’t it Joey in 
the car?” 

“Who do you think it is on the motor-cycle, 
and scorching fit to bust?” demanded Noreen in 
a thrilling whisper. “Why, our old Stinks Pro- 
fessor, no less.” 

She suddenly dived down from her position on 
the high-bricked bank, and dropped below, pull- 
ing Gabrielle with her, and nearly landing on 
terra firma with a great bump, in her haste. 

“He won’t have seen us; he hasn’t got glasses. 
Let’s hide and perk up like jacks in the box just 
as he goes by. He’ll have the surprise of his life 
— and he ought to be pleased to see two of his 
promising pupils.” 

“You won’t call out or anything to give him 
a jump, will you?” asked Gabrielle anxiously. 
She knew Noreen. 


AT DEEPING ROYAL 


221 


“Am I a juggins? He’d probably jump out 
of his skin and break his precious neck,” Noreen 
said. “I only want to say a suitable good-bye 
to one who never bothered to say it to any of 
us, I noticed.” 

Her eyes brimming over with mischief, she 
caught Gabrielle’s hand and dragged her round 
to the angle of the reservoir, still keeping the 
side farthest from the sea. “Now let’s shin up 
this — more rest for our toes at the corner,” she 
said; “then we can put our heads over the top, 
and, speaking with extraordinary politeness — 
oh, it’s all right. Gabby — mention that the brain- 
iest and the stupidest girl in Remove II. are 
desirous to bid him a fond farewell. What’s the 
harm of that?” 

“We shall miss Joey,” objected Gabrielle. “I 
don’t mean to do that for any Professor.” 

Noreen, who was scrambling up the angle of 
the reservoir, kicking vigorously to find a foot- 
hold, managed to rear her head enough to look 
over the top for a second. 

“Nor do I, as it happens, but we shan’t,” she 
stated. “If it’s a race, the Professor means to 
win, hands down.” 


CHAPTERXIX 


Against Time 

J OEY had shouted till she was hoarse ; she had 
flung her inconsiderable weight upon the 
door again and again in the hope of forcing it — 
a feat performed with misleading ease in all 
Gavin’s books of adventure. 

She had to stop at last from sheer exhaustion, 
and then it was, when there was nothing else to 
do, that she began to think. 

The Professor had locked her in, though she 
had called to him. So he had known that she 
was there. He was not deaf, so he had locked 
her in on purpose. That was the first thought 
which came at all clearly to her mind. The sec- 
ond was more puzzling still — why had he done 
it? Joey never knew exactly at what moment it 
was that a suspicion about the Professor crossed 
her mind. Her mind had travelled quite a long 
way first — as far as Mote. What would Cousin 
Greta say when the car came back without her? 
Oh, but it wouldn’t — somebody would look for 
her. Yes, they would look, but would they look 
in the right place, for no one knew where she 
222 


AGAINST TIME 


223 


had gone — no one but little Tiddles? All the 
girls would have gone by the time Cousin Greta’s 
car came for her. Syb and Barbara most likely, 
and Gabrielle and Noreen most certainly, would 
never have given up hunting for her if she were 
missing in a mysterious way; but then they were 
her friends. The maids were very kind and 
good-natured — they would look for her in the 
Blue Dorm and the playroom, and one or two 
more likely places of that kind, but it was not to 
be expected they would go on looking after that. 

They would probably think she had changed 
her mind, and gone off in one of the brakes, and 
tell Cousin Greta’s chauffeur so. He would go 
back to Mote without her, and Cousin Greta 
would think her a girl who had been even ruder 
than on the former occasion, with less excuse; 
and John would think her a slacker, which was 
worse. Joey felt despairingly miserable at the 
thought of John’s contempt; and with that mis- 
ery came naturally the thought why John had 
wanted her to come to-day. She was not very 
clear as to the reason herself; but it was certainly 
something to do with the Professor’s signalling. 
And somewhere at that point a suspicion lifted 
its head. 

Joey groped for a box in the darkness, and sat 
down to consider. All kinds of queer things 
about the Professor kept shifting in a muddled 


224 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


kaleidoscopic whirl across her memory — his cu- 
rious anger on the first day they had met, the aft- 
ernoon when she had tried to perform the duties 
of a scholarship kid by tidying the Lab ; the vio- 
let handkerchief he used, with the queer marks 
on it; his prowls and signalling at night. 

Sitting there in the darkness, with her fingers 
pressed tightly on her eyeballs to help her to 
think, Joey saw again that handkerchief hung 
out to dry upon the nursery guard of the First 
Form Room, and the little yellow marks that 
came out with the heat, and disappeared when 
the handkerchief was cool again. They might 
just have been washing marks — if washing marks 
ever did a thing like that. 

Joey pressed so hard upon her eyeballs that 
she saw violet stars instead of handkerchiefs, and 
then, in the midst, she saw again distinctly those 
funny little marks which had shown themselves 
between the red-worked initials of the Professor’s 
name, — . — . . . — 

Dash, dot, dash, and dot, dot, dot, dash — that 
was Morse, and it spelt two letters, K and V. 
What could they stand for? The Professor’s 
name was Achille, so he had informed Noreen, 
when, greatly daring, she had inquired one day a 
week or so back, after a particularly peaceful 
“stinks” class, when she had not been addressed 
as Fathead. Besides, what person in their senses 


AGAINST TIME 


225 


would have a name first worked, and then fixed 
on in some kind of invisible ink, and in Morse? 

K V ! K stood for Kenneth or Kitten or Kul- 
tur, or Kamerad, or Kaiser. (It was odd how 
many German words came unbidden to her 
mind.) And V might be Vauxhall or Vater- 
land! Yes, Vaterland was spelt with a V, 
though it sounded as if it were an F. Joey found 
that the two words Kaiser and Vaterland fixed 
themselves in her mind, and joined together with 
John’s odd tone about the signalling, and the 
Professor’s midnight expedition, and that letter- 
ing that she had read-— the figures — 31, and then 
the answer Ja. The 31st was to-day, and Ja, as 
Noreen had used it in the wonderful charade, 
meant Yes. What was going to happen to-day, 
and who had answered the Professor’s signal? 

Joey’s mind went back slowly over the ground 
of this exciting month at Redlands, till it reached 
that Sunday spent at Mote, when she had come 
back to school alone, and been caught by the sea- 
roke, and had taken shelter in the Round Tower. 
The jumpy young man had certainly been doing 
odd things down below, and he had not been at 
all pleased to see her there at first ; that was cer- 
tain, though he had been quite kind and nice aft- 
erwards, and told such interesting stories. It 
had never occurred to Joey that the stories might 


226 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


have been intended to have a deterrent effect 
upon her. 

But could the young man’s obvious jumpiness 
have anything to do with the mysterious busi- 
ness? Noreen had thought so, but Joey hoped 
it hadn’t, for if it were he who had answered J a 
it meant he was a German, and she didn’t want 
him to be that. It was much easier to think 
of the Professor as a German; Joey had rather 
liked the young man, in spite of a slight natural 
contempt for his nervousness. And then, quite 
suddenly it all came over her; a sense of some 
great danger, which was none the less frightful, 
but rather the more, because it was all so vague. 

Colonel Sturt had thought that Germans were 
creeping back into the country — Germans in no 
way altered by the wars, inside. And they were 
clever, everyone knew that — quite clever enough 
to call themselves French, and talk with a French 
accent that was good enough to take people in. 
Suppose she were right in what she guessed, and 
the Professor was not French at all but German, 
what was he doing in the school Lab ? And what 
had he taken away with him from the Lab this 
31st October, when the only person who could 
see what he was doing was locked into the closet, 
and likely to remain there till the girls came home 
from the match, and a proper search was insti- 
tuted? Joey remembered that curious little box 


AGAINST TIME 


227 


which through the keyhole she had seen the Pro- 
fessor fit so carefully into his cigar case. It was 
not only something precious to him, but it was 
something he did not wish anybody else to see. 
And if he were a German, it was something that 
no one must see, because it was something that 
would do harm — not just to an insignificant per- 
son like herself, but to England. When Joey 
thought that she had to hold herself in, hard ; or 
she would have flung herself upon the door, and 
beaten upon it in a frenzy till she was worn out. 
For everybody who might look for her was away, 
and no one knew anything except her imprisoned 
self; and the Professor was probably away by 
now with the mysterious box, putting every min- 
ute more distance between himself and Redlands. 

But she forced herself to keep cool. She 
would want all her powers if she was to do any 
good. 

She had heard the great clock from the old 
clock tower strike one quite a long time ago; 
yes, the School would have started. And there 
was not the tiniest bit of a window in her prison ; 
it was all dark and close and filled with bottles 
that rattled and fell over if she moved, and boxes 
with sharp corners that cut her shins. 

Mingled with the other stuffy smells there was 
the rank smell of newly fallen plaster. Though 
it was dry enough now there had been a good deal 


228 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 

of rain last week, and Noreen had mentioned 
casually that the Professor had been very cross 
because some rain came through the closet roof 
and spoilt one of his “preparations.” 

Joey stood up cautiously, and, crouching on the 
floor, felt for the fallen plaster, groping before 
her with both hands. Of course she banged her 
head against a shelf, and upset a bottle, which 
smelt overpoweringly, but she found the plaster, 
and stood up again considering. Somewhere 
there must be a tile off ; and if one had gone, she 
could surely pull away more, and attract atten- 
tion from above. 

Only how did one get up there? Shelves, of 
course! Joey cleared a space on the lowest shelf, 
as well as she could in the darkness, and scram- 
bled on to it, clinging to the one above. There 
was a crash and the tinkle of broken glass, but 
she was reckless now. It didn’t matter if she 
smashed all the bottles in the “Stinks Shop,” as 
long as she got out before it was too late. 

Hanging on with one hand, she pushed away 
some bottle from the next shelf, and pulled her- 
self up on to it; and so, with much bruised shins, 
she landed at the top and stood upright, the roof 
in her reach at last. 

She had expected to find a hole through which 
she could put her hand, but she actually only felt 
a cold whistle of wind, and had to pick at the 


AGAINST TIME 


229 


lath and plaster for a good five minutes in the 
darkness before she could see any light through, 
and then only a chink. 

She pushed with all her might, but nothing 
happened. There was a grea:t shrieking and 
whistling above her head, and she realised that 
the wind must be rising; but nothing happened 
for all her efforts. She had thought that when 
one tile was off the others would follow naturally, 
but it seemed that only happened when you didn’t 
want it to do so. 

She must have something to push with — a shoe 
would do, only she must remember to put it on 
again before she stepped down upon the broken 
glass strewing the floor. 

Joey unlaced one of her strong shoes, not with- 
out upsetting another bottle in the process, and, 
standing on tiptoe on the top shelf, began a vio- 
lent assault upon the breach in the roof. If she 
could only make a hole large enough to get her 
head through, she thought, she would shout and 
shout and shout till somebody heard and came to 
let her out. 

It is very tiring to stand on tiptoe, especially 
when one foot has no shoe on, and bang at some- 
thing above you. Joey’s arms ached and her toes 
ached, and her back ; the height at which Calgar- 
loch had stood amazed was hardly enough for her 
purpose; she had to stretch to her utmost ca- 


230 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


pacity. “Lucky it wasn’t Gabrielle who got 
shut up,” she thought to herself, and then, 
through all her anxiety and struggling, came 
the thought of her two friends, Noreen and Ga- 
brielle, and the plans they had made together for 
the afternoon. What were they doing now? 
Joey wondered. Were they remembering to look 
out for her? Yes, she felt sure they would do 
that; they were the kind of friends who stood by 
you. If only she had them to stand by her now! 

Her attack on the roof did not appear to have 
any effect but that of bringing down unwanted 
showers of plaster that made her choke and 
sneeze and, more than once, gave her a nasty 
knock. But she kept on doggedly at her task 
— she had to do it somehow. English people 
couldn’t wait to ask whether the job was do-able 
when your country wanted it done. And all 
the time she was imprisoned here the Professor 
was free to do what harm he liked, because no- 
body knew about him but herself. 

Joey redoubled her efforts, and a tile went at 
last. She could hear it fall on to the ground be- 
low. One gone — perhaps the next would be 
easier. She dropped her tired arms for a mo- 
ment to rest them, and in that moment the big 
clock struck two. Only half an hour to the time 
the match would start — that gave her a fresh 
sense of urgent need of haste. She smashed 


AGAINST TIME 


281 


furiously at the roof, and her shoe went through 
it and stuck so fast that she nearly came off the 
narrow shelf in her effort to dislodge it. In spite 
of her anxiety and her aching arms, she had to 
giggle at the thought of how absurd a shoe must 
look from below, sticking up through a hole in 
the roof. 

It came away at last, and something happened 
at the same moment: there were steps outside 
and the key turned in the lock — somebody was 
coming in. 

Joey shouted at the full pitch of her lungs, as 
she tumbled down recklessly from the shelf and 
hopped across the broken glass to the door. 

“Oh, let me out! I’m shut in.” 

There was an exclamation, and the voice of 
Frances, the superior parlour-maid who had 
opened the door to Joey on her arrival, called, 
“There, Miss Tiddles! You were right — she 
was here.” 

A key slipped about in the lock of the closet 
door. “Miss Jocelyn, what have you done with 
the key?” Frances demanded. 

Hope died in Joey’s heart. “The Professor 
took it.” 

“I think he’s just gone,” Frances said. “I’ll 
try this key again ; the locks are nearly the same.” 

“Oh, Frances, do try, like a brick!” poor Joey 
cried in a frenzy. The Professor only just gone ; 


232 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


there might be time to stop him yet. Fennell 
the gardener was a large man, and he was prob- 
ably somewhere about the place. 

The key rattled, half-turned, stopped. 
“Bother !” cried Frances. “Run, Miss Tiddles, 
there’s a dear, and see if the Professor’s gone 
yet.” 

Wonder of wonders. Tiddles must be in or 
near the Lab — Tiddles who had such a horror 
of it. But Joey had not time for astonishment. 
“Stop her! Don’t let her go!” she cried. If 
the Professor knew that she was escaping from 
her prison! 

Frances seemed to be bending all her powers 
to the turning of the key. She was a determined 
person, accustomed to resisting the onslaughts of 
the Lower School upon the sugar basin, when 
she poured out the tea. “Almost got it — there!” 
she said, with a gasp. 

The key wheezed and turned ; the door opened 
— Joey was free. “ Thank you , Frances!” she 
gasped, and fled past Frances, past little Tiddles 
standing solemn-eyed and scared at the top of 
the Lab steps, and away towards the house. She 
had put on her other $hoe while Frances was 
wrestling with the key; but it was a dirty, hatless 
girl, with torn stockings and scratched hands, who 
flung herself round the angle of the house, as 
the steadily decreasing throb, throb of a motor- 


AGAINST TIME 


238 


bicycle announced that the Professor was mak- 
ing full speed down the drive, and out to the 
world beyond. 

Joey did not call the gardener. The Profes- 
sor had gone; he would be no good now. She 
dashed through the side door, and fled like the 
wind to Miss Conyngham’s room. It would be 
empty now, of course; there never was such an 
emptiness anywhere as there was about the Col- 
lege to-day. But the telephone was there, and 
the telephone was what she wanted just now. 
John was the one person she could think of as 
able and willing to help; one wouldn’t go to 
•Frances with an unsupported story like hers. 
Frances would look at you as though she was 
thinking “Not another lump — one is plenty, Miss 
Jocelyn,” and there would be an end of it. But 
John would understand. 

She put the call through with feverish haste, 
and a hand that shook a little. Her knees were 
trembling too, and her mouth was dry, but it did 
not strike her that she had had no dinner. Other 
things were mattering so much. 

A maid’s voice answered her.' “Can I speak 
to Mr. John Sturt?” Joey asked, trying to sound 
ordinary and business-like. “Oh — would you 
give him a message and say it’s dreadfully impor- 
tant, please? Say I’m coming, and I don’t think 
the Professor is French after all — he’ll know — 


234 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


and he’s just gone off in a tearing hurry, and he 
took things from the Lab in his cigar case, and 
he’s on a motorbike, and he locked me in.” J oey 
jammed on the receiver, and, without waiting to 
get coat or hat, fled out of the front door and 
down the drive. She hoped Miss Conyngham 
wouldn’t be very vexed by what she was going 
to do ; but anyhow she would have to do it. She 
set out running through the iron gates and along 
that straight marsh road, along which the Pro- 
fessor must have gone first. She had forgotten 
to ask that a car should be sent to fetch her, but 
somehow she had no doubt that would be done. 
Only, she could not wait. 

Her faith in John was justified. John must 
have beaten all speed limits. She hadn’t run a 
mile, battling with the fierce side - wind that 
seemed to take all her breath away, when a cloud 
of dust in front of her, resolved itself into a long- 
nosed grey racing-car; there was a rending 
screech, and John’s voice hailed her. 

“Good! Thought I’d meet you; jump in. 
Mind my crutches.” 

J oey scrambled up, and he backed and turned 
the car neatly. “Did you meet him? she demand- 
ed breathlessly. 

“Who? The Professor? No.” 

“Didn’t you? I thought he’d go to the sta- 


AGAINST TIME 


235 


tion or something,” Joey said blankly. “John, 
I believe he’s a German in disguise.” 

“Bright Kid,” John agreed. “I ’phoned to 
the Police Station before coming to meet you, 
but we could do with some more information. 
What’s this about his locking you in?” 

Joey told breathless reams, without a single 
comma. 

John whistled. H’m! Now, where’s the 
beggar gone? — that’s the question.” 

The car had reached the point where the roads 
branched, to the right to Mote Deep Station and 
so on to the Grange; to the left towards the sea 
and Deeping Royal. 

“If he only left just before you ’phoned I 
ought to have met him,” mused John. “There 
isn’t a train for three-quarters of an hour — and 
you bet a Hun knew that — they’re so thorough. 
He must have gone to the Junction, and then he 
would pass Mote, of course.” 

“Think he went to have a squint at the hockey 
match?” suggested Joey doubtfully. John shook 
his head at her, more in sorrow than in anger. 

Joey! Joey! Think I left my distracted rela- 
tions in the middle of lunch, and brought my own 
special and particular car, just sent me by the 
Governor — you shall see all her points later on 
when we’ve settled this little aff air — to hear you 
making cracked suggestions like that. If our 


236 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


gentleman is out for mischief, he won’t be spe- 
cially keen to locate himself in the midst of a 
large crowd of astute Redlanders, you bet. Stand 
up in the seat — hold on to my shoulder, that’s 
sound enough, and see if you can locate him 
anywhere.” 

Joey obeyed. She was breathless with excite- 
ment, and though John had jeered at her sugges- 
tion about Deeping Royal, he had certainly 
seemed impressed by her story, particularly by 
the violet handkerchief and the box packed in the 
fat cigar case. Of course, one would expect a 
big boy of seventeen, in naval uniform, to laugh 
at a girl of only thirteen ; he wouldn’t be human 
if he didn’t. 

She got upon the driving seat, holding to 
Jbhn’s shoulder with one hand and trying to clear 
her hair out of her eyes with the other. The wind 
was furious ; she found it quite hard to keep her 
footing, though John’s car was low — a typical 
racer, if she had known more about cars. John’s 
father had known his son’s taste to a nicety; John 
wasn’t out for ornament. 

She saw the twisted chimneys of Mote Grange 
far away, and the corrugated iron roof of the 
station in the foreground. Then she looked 
along the road to the left. 

Clear in the intensely clear atmosphere that 
often goes with furious wind, she saw the twin 


AGAINST TIME 


237 


towers of St. Philip and St. James standing 
against the grey line of the sea. But not one 
thought did she give to the great match that 
would be starting there in a very few minutes 
from now; for not so very far away, upon the 
white raised road, a figure was on foot beside a 
motor-bicycle, pushing it, running with it — on 
foot ! 

She grabbed John’s shoulder. “Oh, John, 
I’m sure it’s him — the Professor — and his bicycle 
won’t go, or something.” 

“By Jove!” John cried. He glanced up 
at Joey with a grin. “I suppose I ought to scoot 
to Mote and get help, and drop you in Aunt 
Greta’s charge.” 

“John! he’d get away!” shrieked Joey. 

John grinned again. “He probably would. 
We won’t do what we ought. Get down, Kid. 
I’m going to let her rip.” 

Speed record certainly did not concern John 
just then — the long-snouted racer leapt forward, 
bumping wildly with the pace which John got 
out of her. 

Joey crouched low in the car, feeling as though 
her hair was being torn from her head, but 
blissfully happy all the same. She had absolute 
confidence in John; he would deal with the Pro- 
fessor. It did not occur to her that seventeen- 
year-old John on crutches might not be a match 


238 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


for a determined man in perfect health. Her 
only fear was that the motor-bicycle might get 
going too soon. 

There are few bends in a fen road. Those who 
made them may have had the roads of Russia 
in their minds, for fen roads tend to be drawn 
with a ruler from end to end. 

They saw the Professor, still struggling with 
his bicycle, more than a mile away. They saw 
him run pushing his machine, and this time it 
fired and went. 

Joey said, “Oh!” in deep disappointment. 
John grinned again. 

“Some race, Joey! Hold tight — if he can rip, 
so can we.” 

He only spoke once again. “You might loos- 
en my dirk, Kid; it’s your side.” 

Then he bent himself to the wheel, and got 
every inch of speed out of the car that was in 
her. The distance between car and bicycle di- 
minished slowly. 

The wind roared and tasted salt to the lips; 
the towers of St. Philip and St. James stood 
higher and higher. And now the high parapet 
of the reservoir was in sight. When they passed 
that, Deeping Royal was not three-quarters of 
a mile away. 

“He must be going to see the match after all!” 
shrieked Joey. She had to scream to run any 


AGAINST TIME 


239 


chance of being heard above the roar of wind 
and the racing, lurching car. 

There was still half a mile between car and bi- 
cycle when the bicycle was up to the reservoir, 
and the Professor clapped on his brakes, and 
dashed for it on foot. 

“John!” Joey screamed. The play, which 
the occupants of Blue Dorm had acted to cele- 
brate Miss Craigie’s return, rushed suddenly into 
her mind. She remembered the box of tiny bot- 
tles hidden in the cigar case, and the thin cruel 
smile she had seen on the Professor’s face as she 
looked at him through the keyhole. 

Perhaps John had the same thought in his 
mind. The car bumped furiously, and all but 
overturned. 

The Professor disappeared round the angle of 
the reservoir. 


CHAPTER 


XX 


The Professor's Drive 

I T all happened so quickly that there was no 
time to think or wonder, hardly time even to 
cry out. 

Something that looked like a hand, emerging 
from a white cuff and a dark coat sleeve, ap- 
peared for one instant above the parapet of the 
reservoir just by the angle, and almost the same 
instant two heads, surmounted by the close green 
hats of the Redland girls, shot up to one side of 
it. The arm waved wildly, and then disappeared 
with suddenness below the parapet, the two heads 
diving down after it with startling celerity. 

If ever John’s new car travelled, it travelled 
then! 

Joey forgot everything else — the match — the 
roaring furious wind, the sense of cold and hun- 
ger — what was happening at the reservoir? And 
then they were there! 

John ran the car into the grass of the road- 
side; the reservoir stood a little back from the 
road. He brought the car to a standstill, and 
grasped the crutches which Joey had ready for 
240 


THE PROFESSOR’S DRIVE 241 


him. Together they tore round the angle of 
the great reservoir, Joey leading. 

On the ground below it sat the Professor, one 
hand clasping the back of his head. He held 
something close in his other hand. 

Before him stood Noreen and Gabrielle, the 
latter really apologetic, the former certainly in- 
clined to giggle, though she was making a valiant 
effort to restrain herself. 

“I’m frightfully sorry we startled you so,” 
Noreen was explaining. “We didn’t mean to; 
we were just watching for Joey, and then we 
saw you, and thought it would be fun to take 
you by surprise. I never thought we should make 
you fall back. Honour! and as to Gabrielle, it 
wasn’t her plan at all, so you can’t blame her.” 

Noreen’s clear carrying voice reached Joey 
without any difficulty, as she slipped and 
stumbled over the coarse, sandy grass. The Pro- 
fessor was getting dazedly to his feet while she 
was speaking; he did not appear to be much 
mollified by her apology. 

“You haf giv me de bad fall,” he said. “You 
haf made me de headache ; I cannot smoke . . .” 

He raised his right arm, as though to hurl away 
in a temper the thick cigar case that he held. It 
was open; he crushed his thick thumb down on 
one of the tiny blown-glass bottles that filled it. 
Joey gave a leap like a young chamois and 


242 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


caught his arm. “The cigar case!” she panted, 
and Gabrielle caught it as it dropped from the 
Professor’s hand in the surprise and shock. 

He turned furiously upon Joey. “You!” he 
shouted, and flung her violently away from him, 
snatching at the little case in Gabby’s hand be- 
fore sjie was prepared. 

“John!” Joey screamed; but John was finding 
it hard going with crutches over the uneven grass, 
and he was not yet up with them. The Professor 
broke through the little crowd of girls and dashed 
for his bicycle. He was on it — if only it would 
refuse to start! No such luck — he was turning it 
in the road — he was off! 

John dropped one crutch, and stooped down. 
Next moment his dirk was hurtling through the 
air, thrown with an accuracy that just got the 
back wheel tyre. John had bowled for Dart- 
mouth. There was a loud explosion, and bicycle 
and Professor were mixed up in a heap on the 
road. 

“Lucky you loosened the dirk,” John said to 
Joey, and then they all hurried breathlessly to 
their fallen enemy. 

The Professor was lying quite still half under- 
neath his bicycle. 

“Is he killed?” asked Gabrielle, in a quiet 
awestruck little voice. 

J ohn bent over him, and unbuttoned his waist- 



“i'm frightfully sorry we startled you so 



THE PROFESSOR’S DRIVE 243 


coat, putting his hand inside. “He’s only stunned. 
Take the case, Joey.” 

The Professor had flung it into his coat pocket ; 
J oey took it out and gave it to John. He opened 
it, and took one of the unbroken bottles out, look- 
ing at it anxiously. “I expect this was what he 
worked in the Lab to get done unsuspected.” 

“Think he’s got poisonous germs or something 
bottled there?” asked Noreen. 

“I’m no chemist; but you bet it’s some putrid 
game, like spreading a rotten disease by water. 
We’ve got to hand it over to the police any way, 
and some bacteriologist will tell us all about it. 
But first we’ll have this chap into the car. Can 
you spare one of those sash things you wear? 
We’d better tie his hands behind him, or he’ll be 
getting away when he comes to.” 

Three white braid sashes were at once forth- 
coming; John took Noreen’s, and tied the Pro- 
fessor up thereby securely. 

“Doesn’t he look different without his mous- 
tache!” Noreen observed. 

“Oh, he’s shaved that, has he?” John asked. 

“He took it off in the Lab; it wasn’t a real 
one,” Joey explained. 

John whistled, and grinned approvingly. 

“You saw a fair lot through your keyhole! 
Well, I suppose it’s pretty clear that our gentle- 
man was in the habit of altering his appearance 


244 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


for reasons of his own. Another item in his bill. 
But he didn’t show the usual Hun attention to 
detail — when he took the key out before he had 
finished everything, did he?” 

“He thought no one would know where he 
was. He forgot Tiddles, I expect,” Joey con- 
tributed. 

John tied the last knot with a flourish, just as 
the Professor began to show signs of returning 
consciousness. 

“Tiddles? Oh, the Belgian baby! Yes, I ex- 
pect he forgot her. So she knew you were there.” 

“Yes; I think she saw my shoe sticking out 
of the hole I made in the roof, and fetched 
Frances — the pet!” Joey said. “I say, Gabrielle, 
do you think I’ll be in a fearful row with Miss 
Conyngham again? for I’ve done dreadful 
things in the Lab, besides coming out all un- 
tidy.” 

“I doubt if you’ll get it in the neck from your 
Miss Conygnham this time,” John told her cheer- 
ingly. “But now we must attend to business. 
How do you find yourself now, sir? Can you 
get into my car, or do you want to be helped 
there?” 

The Professor for all answer made a struggle 
with his hands, but the braid was strong, and 
John knew how to tie his knots. 

“No go,” said John. “You had better come 


THE PROFESSOR’S DRIVE 245 


quietly. I’m sorry we had to tie you up; but 
we’ll make you as comfortable as we can.” 

The Professor regained his breath and his 
senses. 

“I do not understand dis outrage,” he said. 
“I shall spik of it to Miss Conyngham instantly. 
Dese girls shall be punished. . . .” 

“I’m afraid you’ve cut your cheek a bit,” John 
said concernedly. “Let me get your handker- 
chief — do you keep it in your pocket or up your 
sleeve? It’s the violet hankerchief I want, the 
one where the code letters come out when you 
hold it to the fire — K V, you know.” 

The shot went home. “What is this fairy 
tale,” the Professor asked contemptuously. But 
he had paused before he asked it — the pause had 
been perceptible. 

“Now will you get into the car, Professor 
Trouville,” John said politely. “I think you see 
that we have some grounds for this — outrage.” 

He turned to the girls. “I’ll drive you to the 
match if you like, and then this gentleman on 
to the police station.” 

The Professor struggled unwillingly to his 
feet. Joey looked at Gabrielle and Noreen. The 
match had ceased to be of the first importance. 

Besides John was very lame; if the Professsor 
got loose, by any chance, he might need their 
help. She turned to Gabrielle. “Do you think 


246 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


we might go with John? John, this is Gabrielle, 
she’s Head of the Lower School and a frightful 
knut, and can give leave for all kinds of things. 
The other is Noreen, and they’re both special 
friends.” 

“Look here,” said John to Gabrielle, “I really 
think you had better give leave for the three of 
you to see the affair through. The circumstances 
are exceptional — and I doubt if there will be 
much of a match to-day in this wind, anyhow. 
Besides I’ll run you back to Deeping Royal be- 
fore anyone’s missed you, and then you can ex- 
plain to your boss.” v 

“Well I think we might, and thank you ever 
so much,” Gabrielle answered very properly, but 
with eyes that sparkled. 

“Right!” John said, and then they all bundled 
into the car, Professor and all, leaving the dam- 
aged bicycle in the toad. It was a terrible 
squeeze, of course, to get five into a two-seater; 
but much can be done when people are deter- 
mined. The Professor, yellow and strained- 
looking, was wedged in between John and Ga- 
brielle; while Joey and Noreen squeezed some- 
how into the little emergency seat behind. The 
car dashed hack along the road they had come. 

As they had tucked themselves in J oey noticed 
that Noreen’s shoes were squelching with wet. 


THE PROFESSOR’S DRIVE 247 


“Did you sit on the edge and put your feet in 
the reservoir?” she asked. 

Noreen laughed. “No, but when I wedged 
my feet at the angle it seemed to have sprung 
a leak. Hush! Don’t tell Gabrielle. She’ll 
probably think we ought to go back like the 
Dutch kid, and stop it with a finger.” 

“I expect it will do all right if we report it 
at the police station,” Joey said. “But it must 
be a healthy leak, if it’s made you as wet as all 
that.” 

“It’s always happening,” explained Noreen, 
the experienced. “The reservoir was done with 
scamped work in the first instance — haven’t you 
heard our beloved Miss Craigie draw a moral for 
our benefit? Oh, well, if you haven’t, you will. 
And they’re always having to shore up one bank 
or another ... I say, you’re shivering; it is 
jolly cold for motoring.” 

John caught the words, and rammed on his 
brakes. “What an ass I am! Put on my coat, 
Kid.” 

He began to struggle out of his motor-coat. 
His arms were half in and half out when the 
Professor sprang to his feet, his hands freed, the 
frayed ends of the braid sash hanging. He 
had John’s dirk in his left hand; he had released 
himself by rubbing up against it ; in his right was 
a small revolver, 


248 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“Now I think we shall talk rather differently,” 
he snarled. “You will drive me to the station, 
young gentleman, and these young ladies will get 
out to walk to Deeping Royal or Redlands — I 
care not which.” 

The Professor was holding the revolver within 
an inch of John’s neck. Joey wondered whether 
it was all a bad dream, or a reality in which she 
ought to make a snatch at the revolver, and try 
and overpower the Professor. But John settled 
the question before she had time to decide. 

“Get out, girls,” he said. “You had better go 
straight to Deeping Royal. I’ll drive the Pro- 
fessor along as he suggests.” 

Joey got out obediently, and the other two 
followed suit. 

“Hurry!” the Professsor snarled. 

John got his hands free of his coat in leisurely 
fashion. The girls stood close together on the 
road. “Let’s go for him,” whispered Noreen; 
but Joey was looking at John. 

John’s thin brown face was perfectly impas- 
sive, but his right eyelid lay dead upon his cheek. 
Joey knew quite well that John, alone, and with 
a very game leg, had nevertheless something up 
his sleeve. 

“Get on!” reiterated the Professor. His 
French accent was dropping from him, Joey no- 
ticed; he spoke good English now, though with 


THE PROFESSOR’S DRIVE 249 


the hard guttural which hardly any Englishman 
achieves. 

The car was a self-starter. John whirled off 
without remark, leaving the three Redlands girls 
stranded rather forlornly on the wind-swept road. 

They all three shivered a little as the car grew 
smaller and smaller in the distance. They were 
afraid for J ohn, and also puzzled by his acquies- 
cence in the situation — an acquiescence so out of 
keeping with the little bit of ribbon on his jacket. 
Added to which they were all three very cold, and 
a longish walk and drive lay between them and 
tea. 

Noreen broke the silence. “I vote we get on 
to Deeping Royal, and tell Miss Conyngham 
what has happened. Some story anyhow, if she 
does row us for sloping off. Won’t she be jolly 
excited to know about the Professor? What do 
you say, Gabrielle and Joey?” 

“Yes, I think we had bettter go now,” Ga- 
brielle agreed. “I’m afraid we can’t do any- 
thing for John, and Miss Conyngham ought to 
know.” 

But Joey stood still stubbornly by the road- 
side. “I don’t care if she ought; I’m going to 
wait for John,” she said. “At least, I mean, 
I’m going along to Mote to tell Cousin Greta 
what’s happened to him.” 

Joey tried to speak as though she did not mind 


250 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


a bit about the three-mile tramp, or anything. 
“You two go along to the match, and tell Miss 
Conyngham. I’ll try and square up the disobe- 
dience and being so untidy, and letting Red- 
lands down, afterwards, when there’s time.” 

Joey thought she had never realised till then 
what her two friends could be. Each seized an 
arm. 

“Slink back to the match, and leave you to be 
in a row all by yourself? Likely, isn’t it, you 
juggins?” Noreen inquired scornfully. And 
Gabrielle — Gabrielle, Head of the Lower 
School, who had never been known to break a 
rule since Joey had known her, added calmly: 

“We’ll all go to Mote, Joey; I think you are 
right. Of course it is disobeying the Redlands 
rule ; but I will explain to Miss Conyngham why 
we did it, afterwards. In any case we couldn’t 
leave you.” 

“I say, you are bricks!” Joey said rather 
chokingly, and then the three set out together at 
a run towards the turning to Mote. They had 
passed it in the car, and were indeed now within 
about half a mile of the Round Tower. Joey 
found herself noticing, for all her anxiety about 
J ohn, how gaunt and sinister it looked, standing 
up against the shivering sodden grass, and the 
dreary wind-swept sky, in that minute before 


THE PROFESSOR S DRIVE 251 


she and the others turned their backs upon it, 
and began to struggle towards Mote in the teeth 
of a wind that seemed to have grown overwhelm- 
ingly strong in the last few minutes. 

Now that they faced towards the sea it was 
truly terrific. 'Noreen and Gabrielle had their 
close school hats jammed low upon their fore- 
heads, and even then it was almost impossible to 
keep them on. Joey, being hatless, was not 
affected by this difficulty; but her djibbah 
flapped furiously about her, her hair was all over 
the place, and she found it really difficult to keep 
her footing. It was extraordinary how much the 
gale had grown within the last twelve or fifteen 
minutes. 

But the three friends locked arms and fought 
their way on determinedly. Joey meant to get 
somehow to Mote, and let John’s people know 
what he was doing. 

“And after that we shall probably meet the 
school — going home,” Gabrielle gasped out; “and 
we can get ourselves picked up. They’ll have to 
come back; they can never play the match out 
in this wind.” 

“I hope they come along soon; it’s going to 
pour by the look of the sky, and we haven’t got 
macs,” Noreen said. “There 1 I felt a splash of 
rain in my face already.” 


252 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“So did I; but it wasn’t rain, it tasted salt,” 
panted Gabrielle. 

“Spray couldn’t come out here, could it?” asked 
Joey. “We’re a long way from the sea.” 

“About a mile,” Noreen screamed in her ear. 

“Oh, no, spray couldn’t come out here, even 
at the most extraordinarily high tide.” 

Another dash in their faces. “That came 
from the river,” said Gabrielle. 

They had almost reached the low-arched 
bridge that spans the river Mentle, about three- 
quarters of a mile beyond the Round Tower. 
The water was surging angrily against the 
arches, and, at intervals of a minute or so, send- 
ing up a great splash over the very low stone bor- 
der and into the road. 

“Funny, because it can’t be high tide yet,” 
said Noreen. “I looked it up to see if there was 
any chance of the Team getting splashed in 
Fishmarket Field. It isn’t till 3.40.” 

“Then it’s going to be an extra specially high 
one,” remarked the experienced Gabrielle, look- 
ing down at the surging, bankless Mentle. 

“I should think they would get some healthy 
splashes in the field; the spray comes right over 
the old sea-wall in a really rough tide.” 

“Oh, never mind the old tide — let’s get on to 
Mote!” urged Joey. 

And just as she said it, the thing happened. 


THE PROFESSOR’S DRIVE 253 


There was a sudden appalling roar — a long, 
crashing roar. The river gave a sort of shudder- 
ing sigh, and then, far off along its brimming 
level, something seemed to rise up — a great grey 
wall, foam-tipped. J oey stared at it, fascinated, 
but not frightened. 

But Gabrielle knew the fens. She grasped 
J oey roughly by the arm, Gabrielle, who was al- 
ways so gentle in her ways. 

“Come on! Run! Run back from the river,” 
she screamed. “That’s an Eigre!” 

Joey hadn’t a notion what an Eigre might be, 
but there was urgency in Gabrielle’s tone. They 
all three turned and ran back along the road 
that they had come. Only Joey looked over 
her shoulder, and thought she never would for- 
get what she saw as long as she lived. 

The wall of water, curling as it came, swept 
nearer; then suddenly it broke with a noise like 
thunder, and, with a great swirl and rush, the 
water was over the bridge in a whirl, was spread- 
ing far and wide, was about their feet. 

“Run!” Gabrielle shouted again, as a second 
great surge brought the water washing against 
their knees. And run they did, through a world 
that seemed all water, as far as the eye could 
reach. 

No one who was at Redlands then, least of all 
those three friends, will ever forget that wild 31st 


254 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


of October, when the old sea-wall went down, 
and the highest tide that men had known for 
thirty years burst in upon the Deeps of Little 
Holland! 


CHAPTER XXI 




In the Round Tower 

T HERE are white posts set at intervals along 
the fen roads to guide travellers in the dark. 
A necessary precaution as the roads are often 
ditch-bordered, and for half the year those 
ditches brim. 

The posts are barely two feet in height; by the 
time the girls had reached the spot where John 
had left them, only the tops of those posts were 
left uncovered; the tide was plainly driving in 
with terrific foilce, and wherever they looked 
they saw nothing but the waste of tossing water. 

Not one of the three would have owned to be- 
ing frightened, and it was in quite a cheerful 
voice that Noreen put their worst danger into 
words. 

“Hurry up, you two. We must get some- 
where before the posts cover, or we shan’t be able 
to find the road.” 

Joey remembered the deep slanting ditches; 
to slip into one of them had been a very real dan- 
ger on that foggy Sunday when she had come 
back alone from Cousin Greta’s; to do so now 

255 


256 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


would be almost certain death. She did her best 
to splash along faster, though she was beginning 
to feel decidedly conscious that it was a long time 
since breakfast, and that she was chilled to the 
bone. It seemed as though the three of them 
had been splashing through that cold swirly 
water for years, and there didn’t seem any par- 
ticular end to it; and what had happened to 
John? 

“Where are we going?” she asked dully. “The 
Round Tower is nearest.” 

She had to look round, as she spoke, to make 
sure that the tower was there. All the familiar 
objects looked so different, standing in this vast 
sea. 

“Yes, it’s nearest, but we won’t go there,” 
Gabrielle said, in her sensible way. “You see, 
though it’s uncomfortable and very cold to go 
wading along like this, we are quite safe on the 
road till the water is a good bit deeper. To try 
and get across the Deeps with the floods out 
would be almost as risky as it would have been 
to try and cross the river just now when it was 
pouring across the bridge. If we just keep 
along quietly we shall come to the turning off to 
Hesgate Church and Rectory, and we can get 
shelter there till the tide goes down, or some- 
one comes for us.” 

Gabrielle’s matter-of-fact tone had a very 


IN THE ROUND TOWER 257 


cheering effect. She was the smallest of the 
three, but she was quite the Head of the Lower 
School just then, and no one thought of dis- 
puting her verdict. 

“What do you think the others are doing ?” 
Joey asked anxiously. She had been afraid to 
ask that question before, but Gabrielle seemed 
so undisturbed by the ways of floods that she 
felt things could not be as bad as they had 
seemed. 

“I think they will be quite all right,” Gabrielle 
said. “You see Deeping Royal is used to high 
tides and things of that sort, and people always 
take refuge in the churches there. The towers 
were built frightfully strong on purpose. Miss 
Conyngham once told us about a big flood, in 
1830 it was, I think, and the people had to stay 
in the twin towers all night, while the great 
waves surged round. One man was so grateful 
that he gave a new peal of bells to both towers, 
and put a text on the biggest bell: “The flood 
arose, the stream beat vehemently upon that 
house and could not shake it.” 

“I like that,” Joey said. 

“Yes, wasn’t it decent, and he never gave his 
name either; he was a stranger in Deeping 
Royal, and he just sent the bells from London 
when he had got away safely. The Vicar had 
‘The gift of a grateful heart/ carved below his 


258 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


text on the bell, and they ring a peal every year 
on the anniversary of the great flood in memory 
of him. That day comes in the spring; we al- 
ways get high tides — special tides, you know — at 
spring and autumn.” 

“Well, this one will have come to its highest 
pretty soon, I expect,” Joey said. “You’ve got 
a watch, Gabrielle; what’s the time?” 

Gabrielle looked. “Five past three ; and we’re 
just opposite the Round Tower; that means it 
isn’t much more than a mile to Hesgate Rec- 
tory. We shall ...” 

What they might have done remained un- 
known. There was a curious sound behind them, 
nothing very loud, but loud enough to make 
them look round. The water all around them 
seemed to upheave violently. Instinctively they 
clung together, and it was a mercy that they did. 
There was a terrific suck and gurgle about them, 
and next moment the white posts were all oblit- 
erated, and they were swaying helplessly in a 
great waste of water, which had suddenly grown 
frighteningly deep. “What is it?” Joey gasped, 
as the first shock passed, and they found them- 
selves still on their feet, but with the water wash- 
ing nearly to their waists. 

“I don’t know,” Gabrielle said, staring around 
her, but Noreen gave a little choke. “You bet 


IN THE ROUND TOWER 259 


it’s the reservoir — that weak bank gone — and it’s 
still forty minutes to high tide.” 

Joey woke up. “We must get across td the 
Round Tower.” 

“It’s locked, isn’t it?” asked Noreen. It was 
a proof she was inwardly frightened that she 
did not add, “you juggins!” 

“And there’s a bad ditch somewhere near it, 
Joey,” Gabrielle added. “We could never find 
it now.” 

“I could,” Joey spoke confidently. “I’ve been 
there, remember. Hold on to me, .Gabby; I’m 
sure I can dodge that ditch; I know where it 
was.” 

Gabrielle hesitated for a moment; while Nor- 
een and Joey looked anxiously at her. Every 
one knew that Gabrielle could not swim. Nor- 
een was not much of a performer; but Gabrielle 
had been too delicate to learn at all so far. 

“We might keep the road,” she said; “but we 
mightn’t, and it’s a mile. We’ll risk the ditch — 
on one condition, Joey. If we slip — and we’ll 
be going into deeper water anyhow, you know — 
you and Noreen must save yourselves, and not 
bother about me.” 

“We’re not going to slip, but we’re going to 
hurry,” Joey said. “I’ll go in front, because I 
know the way. You hold on to me, Gabby, and 


260 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Noreen hold on to you. We’ll have to jump the 
roadside ditch; it isn’t a wide one, but it will 
make a beastly splash. When I say Now!” 

They turned sideways. “Now !” shrieked Joey. 
They all jumped, and Noreen failed to clear the 
ditch, and had to be pulled out, spluttering and 
choking, by the other two. 

They had landed in water that was more than 
waist high, for the road was raised. The ques- 
tion was how much more the fen dipped before 
they reached the tower. Joey plunged on, but 
cautiously, putting one foot well in advance of 
the other, in terror of that yawning ditch. It 
was all very well to say so confidently that she 
remembered its exact position; how was one to 
be sure of the exact position of anything with all 
the world water, and a sense that at any moment 
one might step clean out of one’s depth? Joey 
had swum well out of her depth on the last sea- 
side holiday the family had shared, but then 
Father was beside her to call, “Steady! and don’t 
hurry your stroke”; and “Put your hand up on 
my shoulder,” when she was getting tired. Swim- 
ming now would be a very different matter with 
Noreen, who had only just achieved the width 
of the Redlands swimming bath last summer, 
and Gabrielle, who was helpless, to bring to 
safety besides herself. All the same she never 
thought for an instant that she might not be 


IN THE ROUND TOWER 261 


able to do it; that sort of thought was not for 
English people. One just must. 

The tide was rushing in at a truly terrific pace, 
but the three, gripping desperately to each other, 
kept their footing and struggled on. And so, 
after what seemed an eternity of nightmare 
struggling through the deepening water, they 
flung themselves against the wall of the Round 
Tower at last. 

“Hold on, Gabby; I have to find the door,” 
J oey cried cheerfully. The worst was over now, 
she thought ; the tower floor was well raised, and 
inside there was a ladder. She waded round to 
the narrow ledge, scrambled up, and felt the 
door. 

It was bolted as before, and this time she had 
no knife in her pocket. To be accurate she had 
no pocket in her djibbah; when she had begun 
this long queer day her handkerchief had been 
up her sleeve. Now it was probably whirling 
hither and thither about the Deeps. 

Joey stooped a little, and put her mouth to 
the chink. She must make the young man hear. 

“I say, do let us in. We’re outside your 
door.” 

She had shouted at the top of her voice, and 
she got an answer, though it was not the answer 
she expected. It was a queer muffled cry, but it 
was a word, and the word was “Help!” 


262 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Joey looked down from her slippery stand up- 
on Noreen and Gabrielle. Gabrielle was shoulder 
deep ; she was clinging silently to the rough wall 
of the tower, but there was nothing much to take 
hold of. Joey must get the door open and go 
to her help at once. 

“Got a knife, either of you?” she jerked at 
them. 

“I have,” called Noreen. 

Joey did not dare tell them to move from their 
precarious position. The water was washing 
hard against the tower; Gabrielle at least could 
be washed away from it quite easily if she loos- 
ened her grip. 

“Chuck it here !” she shouted, and prayed that 
she might not muff the catch. Noreen fumbled 
and threw. Joey, leaning a little away from 
the door, with one hand clinging, caught the 
knife as it flew across the water, and held it 
— safe! 

She had it open in a second, and forced the 
bolt a minute later. Kneeling in the doorway, 
she undid her braid sash, meaning to fling it out 
to Noreen and Gabrielle. 

“Get hold; we’re all right now.” 

And as she spoke she heard again that muffled 
call for help from somewhere underneath. Then, 
of course, she remembered her first visit, and 


IN THE ROUND TOWER 268 


the jumpy young man who had come up through 
the trap-door. 

The floor of the Round Tower was hardly 
under water yet; but what was it like under- 
neath? That last call had been the choked effort 
of someone who couldn’t breathe. 

J oey stood irresolute for one second — but only 
one. The jumpy young man was probably a 
German, since he and the Professor had been 
signalling to one another; but when you were 
English you couldn’t leave even a Hun to die 
when he had called for help. Father had risked 
his life to bring in a wounded German who was 
lying in agony in a shell-swept reach of No- 
Man’s Land. She would not even have hesitated 
for that second, if it had not been for the thought 
of Gabrielle and Noreen holding on precariously, 
with the deepening water washing round them, 
waiting for her help. In her heart she knew that 
her friends would not want her to hesitate. 

She darted across the floor to the corner where 
the trap-door was, and then she saw what had 
happened. The owner of the tower had been 
right in considering it rather shaky, and none too 
safe. A great stone had come down, and lay 
upon the trap-door, making it quite impossible 
to push up from below. 

Joey flung herself upon the great stone. “All 
right — I’ll get it open,” she shouted; but there 


264 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


was no answer. That faint choked call was not 
repeated. 

She pushed at the stone with all her strength, 
but it did not budge. She pushed again, with 
a terrible nightmare feeling that Gabrielle, her 
friend, could not keep her footing in the water, 
and was drowning while she wasted time. She 
took a deep breath, and pushed, with cracking 
muscles, for the third time, and the stone rolled 
over with a loud splash, and the trap was free. 

“Can you push?” she shouted. When she had 
seen him before the young man had come up a 
ladder propped against the side, and pushed 
the trap up from below. But now there was no 
sound or answer. Joey thought of Gabrielle’s 
story of the man who had been drowned in th$ 
room below the Round Tower in just such an- 
other flood, and hunted desperately for some- 
thing she could catch at and pull the trap-door 
up. 

She found a ring at last, and tugged with all 
her might. The trap raised, and water sluiced 
down into the opening, water that was washing 
in through the open door. The water from above 
met the water from below with a great splash. 
There was no other sound. 

Joey peered down the wide trap. Two grop- 
ing hands and a dead white face with staring 
eyes showing dimly through the darkness. Black 


IN THE ROUND TOWER 265 

water, of an unknown depth, washed to and 
fro. 

She flung herself face downwards on the edge, 
and dropped her braid sash straight between 
the groping hands. “Catch hold!” 

The hands fumbled blindly, and then gripped. 
There was a fierce tug on the impromptu rope. 
Joey dug her toes into the floor, in the effort 
to escape being pulled in. 

“That’s right, hold on, and get to the ladder,” 
she shouted. “Make haste.” 

She looked at the side where the ladder had 
been; it was gone! And the water below was 
still a good long way below the level of the floor, 
and the trickle washing in would not raise it 
till too late for Gabrielle and Noreen. 

Joey looked round desperately for something 
to which she could secure one end of her sash. 
At all costs she must hurry to the help of the 
other two. But there was nothing at all, noth- 
ing except the ladder on the farther side of the 
tower, fixed to the wall ; and to reach that would 
require a sash of treble the length. No, there 
was only one thing to be done, unless she meant 
to abandon the young man to his fate — and one 
couldn’t let an enemy drown when one was a sol- 
dier’s daughter. 

“It’s all right. I’ll pull you up; but please 
keep quiet and don’t jerk, or you’ll drag me in,” 


266 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


she called down, trying to speak confidently. 
“Don’t start to come up till I say ‘Now’!” she 
added hastily, as a frantic jerk to the rope all 
but had her through the trap. 

She slithered back over the floor to the farthest 
extent her sash would give her, and got behind 
the stone that she had moved with so much dif- 
ficulty. Then she looped the end of her sash, 
got a desperate grip, took a long breath, and 
shrieked “Now!” 

It was a frightful tug. Her straining body 
pushed the heavy stone with it nearer and nearer 
to the edge. Her hands seemed as though they 
were being wrenched away from her wrists, and 
her arms from her shoulders. The toes and her 
knees scraped the stone of the floor as she dug 
them in fiercely to gain hold, and she was 
dragged forward all the time. It never occurred 
to her to let go, but she knew vaguely that it was 
only a question of seconds before she went 
through the trap for all her efforts. And then 
a hand caught the edge of the trap, and the 
strain slackened suddenly. 

Joey fell backwards, and lay there panting 
and speechless for a second, while the young 
man exhaustedly dragged himself up to safety. 
But she only lay for one moment; then struggled 
up and to the door. 

Her heart was thumping with hammer 


IN THE ROUND TOWER 267 


strokes; she felt sure that she would not see her 
friends. It seemed such years that she had been 
wrestling with the trap-door, and trying to grip 
on to that slippery sash. 

But they were there; clinging tightly — Nor- 
een with her arm round Gabrielle, both with 
their heads turned anxiously to the door. Nor- 
een spoke quite cheerfully, though with chatter- 
ing teeth. 

“I say, buck up with that sash, you juggins!” 
she grinned. “We’re getting wet.” 

Joey didn’t answer, because there was such 
a lump in her throat that she couldn’t. She 
threw the pulled and ravelled sash, and Noreen 
caught it. Steadying themselves with it and 
the wall of the tower she and Gabrielle came 
safely to the door, and scrambled up into the 
tower. 

Joey hugged them both, regardless of the 
young man’s presence. “Oh, you dears!” 

“What made you such an age?” Noreen in- 
quired. “Did you stop to explore the tower or 
something?” 

The young man answered the question. “She 
saved my life. I was suffocating there, and 
drowning, and she pulled me up. I owe her 
my life.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” Joey said, rather flus- 
tered. “Anyone would have lent a hand ? of 


268 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


course. But do you mind telling us now wheth- 
er you are in league with our Stinks Professor 
— you signal to him, don’t you? But I hope 
you aren’t doing beastly things like poisoning 
water, for you don’t seem that sort.” 

The jumpy young man stared at the three 
Redlands girls, till his eyes seemed ready to start 
from his head. Then he gasped, “How do you 
know?” 

“Because we’ve got the Professor — at least 
I think John has — and anj^how we’ve spoilt his 
game,” Joey announced triumphantly. “But we 
want to know if you’ve been doing those kind 
of beastly spy things too — because we don’t want 
to be hateful, but we couldn’t shake hands with 
you and be friends if you have!” 

They stood ankle-deep in the water, and stared 
at one another, Joey and the man whose life 
she had saved. There was a dead silence for a 
whole minute; then he said: 

“I have worked with him, and I knew some- 
thing of his plans, but mon Dim! how I hated 
them and him. For my home is in Alsace, and 
my father and mother were French. The Pro- 
fessor, who is no more French than you are, had 
lent my father money, and I was to work it out 
as his assistant. And since the War he has 
forced me to work for him in this country, know- 


IN THE ROUND TOWER 269 


ing I was too much implicated to betray him. 
And that is the truth, Mademoiselle.” 

Joey held out her hand. “You’ll chuck it 
now, of course, and I’m sure Colonel Sturt will 
see about your not getting into trouble; and, if 
you don’t mind, I could speak to Mademoiselle 
de Lavernais about you — she comes from Alsace 
too. We’re no end glad you’re all right, really.” 

“Rather!” said Noreen and Gabrielle with 
great heartiness, and all three shook hands with 
the Alsatian solemnly. 

“What’s your name?” asked Joey, feeling that 
she ought to act as mistress of the ceremonies in 
right of her former acquaintance with the 
jumpy young man. 

“I was baptized ‘Hans’; when the doors and 
windows were all shut my parents called me 
‘Jean,’ ‘Jean Corvette,’ ” he said. 

“Righto, we’ll call you that,” Joey said. “I 
thought you couldn’t be a Hunnish kind of Ger- 
man when you were so decent to me that Sun- 
day, you know. We’ll introduce ourselves, and 
then it will all be as right as rain. This is 
Gabrielle Arden, and here’s Noreen O’Hara, 
and I’m Joey Graham.” 

Two drowned rats bowed politely in acknow- 
ledgment of Joey’s introduction; but the jumpy 
young man was not looking at them. He was 
staring at J oey. 


270 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“Graham — Graham — ” he muttered; then 
suddenly: “I was with the gardeners that night 
you act in the big hall, and you have the look 
of him then, Mademoiselle. Was your father 
a major of the name of Graham?” 

“Yes, he was; but the Huns killed him with 
their beastliness to him when he was wounded 
and a prisoner,” Joey said. 

“You saved my life; I will tell you all I 
know,” the young man said. “When the Pro- 
fessor sent for me to come here, two months 
ago, Major Graham was not dead, but alive and 
working in the salt mines at Kochnecht.” 

“What?” Joey gasped. “He was reported 
killed.” 

“Many are reported so, but not all are dead. 
Some day perhaps a search will find Englishmen 
left behind in Germany. Your Major Graham 
is one — I gave him water when he was wounded, 
and no woman would have pity, and he thanked 
me and said I was ‘a good chap,’ and smiled as 
you smile, Mademoiselle, so I remember him. 
But the Count that used to shoot at Calgarloch 
Castle had a spite against your father, and re- 
turned him ‘killed.’ ” 

The tower room swam with Joey for a mo- 
ment; she felt sick and queer. 

“I say, you’re not going to faint or anything 


IN THE ROUND TOWER 271 


rotten like that, are you?” cried Noreen; “be- 
cause it’s a beastly damp place to do it in.” 

“Don’t, Noreen, it’s her pater.” That was 
Gabrielle speaking. Joey pulled herself to- 
gether. 

“I’m all right — only it’s . . . it’s so heavenly. 
Did you hear, Father’s cdiveT 

Noreen seized her round the waist. “Yes, I 
heard, and it wasn’t heartlessness, only you did 
look funny for a minute. Joey, I am glad; and 
isn’t it queer and topping that everything’s gone 
and happened like this. If there had been no 
flood, or John had driven us to Deeping Royal 
as he intended, we should have been up the twin 
towers with the rest, and you would never have 
heard this.” 

“And if I hadn’t been caught in the sea-roke 
that Sunday, and known you were down the 
trap-door, I shouldn’t have known where to look 
for you when you called ‘Help!’” Joey said 
to Jean Corvette. 

“And if you had not risked your life to rescue 
me, Mademoiselle Joey, I should never have 
talked again,” he said. 

“And if we hadn’t been Joey’s special friends 
and waited for her at the reservoir, I suppose 
the old Professor would have got away, and most 
of this wouldn’t have happened,” Gabrielle sug- 
gested seriously. “We’re all very wet, and Ma- 


272 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


tron xmll be cross to-morrow; but it’s all been 
gloriously worth while.” 

“Hasn’t it just!” Joey cried ecstatically. 
“And now, if Jean doesn’t mind, let’s get up 
that ladder. You bet John will be looking out 
for us as soon as he has settled the Professor, 
and I know he had some plan when he said he 
would drive him.” 

Jean made no objection, though he was still 
too much exhausted to go with them. But the 
three friends, undeterred by wet and clinging 
garments, climbed the shaky ladders to what 
was left of the top floor of the tower, where they 
found the electric torch which Jean must have 
used lying close under a loop-hole window. 

“Of course a torch-flash isn’t easy to read in 
daylight, but there’s no sun, and it’s getting 
darker,” Joey suggested. 

“Then it must be past high tide,” Noreen said 
joyfully. The three stood at the loop-hole, look- 
ing out for a minute in silence over the dreary 
grey waste of water. A wicker hen-coop and 
a large bath-tub washed aimlessly about near the 
walls of their refuge, farther off a poor drowned 
sheep showed, half submerged. 

Gabrielle put her arm through Joey’s. “We 
might have been drowned too,” she said, “and in- 
stead we’re all right, and your father’s alive.” 

Joey couldn’t answer that for a second: then 


IN THE ROUND TOWER 273 


she said huskily, “Thanks awfully, and I am 
glad we’re all in it together.” 

“And always will be for ever and ever, 
Amen,” chipped in Noreen the irrepressible. 
“Gabrielle will be Upper School next term, Miss 
Craigie thinks, but she’ll never desert the alli- 
ance, I know. It’s going to be for always.” 

“I say, I am jolly glad I came to Redlands,” 
J oey said from her heart. 

They took turns after that to work the torch, 
sending S.O.S. signals out into the wet world, 
while the tide steadily sucked back and back, 
leaving the tops of the white posts uncovered 
once more. And then over the grey waste a boat 
came, and they tore down the ladders at a break- 
neck pace to welcome John, rowed by a sturdy 
policeman. 

“What’s happened to him — the Professor?” 
shrieked Noreen, as soon as the boat came into 
hailing distance. 

“Oh, you’re all right, you three, thank good- 
ness!” John sent back, as he steered the boat 
carefully for the tower door. “I felt rather 
jumpy about you, when the sea burst in. But I 
might have known Joey would come out top. 
The Professor? — oh, he is safely in the lock-up, 
with his violet handkerchief — which it seems is 
the secret insignia of his crowd — and his precious 
bugs. The flood was really a convenience, other- 


274 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


wise I meant to run my car into a ditch, and 
have him that way if poss. As it was, the tide 
burst in and swamped us, and he can’t swim and 
was in a blue funk of drowning, so I had no 
bother at all. Just left him hanging on to the 
car, without his bugs, revolver, or hanky, and 
swam for help. I could have waded, of course, 
but swimming was easier for my game leg, and 
more impressive. And they’re all right at Deep- 
ing Royal; they’re sending boats. So you have 
nothing to do, but to let us get you back to Red- 
lands.” 

Hanging on to the door, Joey stooped to whis- 
per to John. “John, be nice to this man here, 
because he’s told me Father is alive in Ger- 
many.” 

“What, your pater alive after all! Top-hole!” 
John said. “That will be something to tell Aunt 
Greta!” 

Joey looked back at the Round Tower, as 
she and the rest were rowed quickly away from 
it. How little she had guessed, when she had 
first come to Redlands, and looked at it with so 
much interest, what it would mean to her ! 

That night, while a disapproving Matron, 
armed with an immense bottle of sal volatile, 
stood by, urging bed for everyone, Joey Graham 
was cheered at tea by the entire school. 


CHAPTER XXII 


The Great Election 

I T was wonderfully quiet in the Queen’s Hall, 
considering that six hundred girls were as- 
sembled there. Of course, there was not the ab- 
solute pin-drop silence of the times when Miss 
Conyngham read prayers, but that was not to 
be expected because The Election — (it was al- 
ways the Election at Redlands) — was in prog- 
ress. For the last hour there had been a steady 
tramp of feet going to and returning from the 
platform on which there sat in silent dignity the 
“Heads of the Upper and Lower School.” 

Before each was a large waste-paper basket, 
and into one or other of those receptacles each 
girl dropped a folded paper containing the name 
of a candidate for the highest dignity the school 
could offer. 

The Head of the Upper School must be 
chosen from the Upper or the Lower Sixth; 
the Head of the Lower from Remove II. A or B, 
that was the one restriction. It gave a choice 
of forty girls in the Upper School and of sixty 
in the Lower. Every College girl had the right 

275 


276 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


to vote, with the exception of the retiring digni- 
taries; even Tiddles had her buff slip, and was 
laboriously printing something on it with a much- 
sucked pencil. No Redlands girl would have 
forgone the privilege of voting for the world. 

Six weeks had gone by since that exciting 31st 
of October; six wonderful weeks for Joey. 
Weeks when extraordinary things happened; 
among others a day in town with Colonel Sturt 
(who wasn’t gruff at all) and with Cousin Greta, 
when she was taken to the War Office to answer 
the keen, interested questions of a couple of 
splendid-looking staff officers, who were very 
kind to her, and promised that the business of 
searching for her father should be put in hand, 
without a second’s delay. They shook hands 
with Joey, and congratulated her when they had 
finished. She went to lunch at the Ritz after- 
wards, feeling deliriously happy, and much old- 
er. The only bar to her perfect bliss was the 
fact that she might not tell Mums about that 
wonderful hope forthwith. Cousin Greta said 
it would be cruel, until the hope was a certainty, 
and Cousin Greta had been so wonderfully kind 
and understanding of late that Joey felt sure she 
must be right. Still not even the lovely little 
gold wrist-watch bracelet which her cousin chose 
for her in Bond Street, when lunch was over, 
could make up for having to keep silence to 


THE GREAT ELECTION 


277 


Mums. It was a better consolation when Lady 
Greta said she was going to ask Mums down for 
the “Old Girls’ Day” at the end of the term, 
so that Joey could show her the school and her 
friends, and they could travel back to Scotland 
together. Joey thought it would be a particu- 
larly pleasant thing to show the school to Mums 
just now, when everyone was being so extra- 
ordinarily nice to her. Even Ingrid Latimer 
and her friend Joan Chichester, that big Sixth 
Former who had put Joey on the table the day 
that she and Gabby and Noreen were going to 
meet Miss Craigie, condescended to a good deal 
of notice. Joey felt her cup of pride would 
brim over if she could bring Mums up to these 
majestic people and say, carelessly, “I’d like you 
to know my mother,” as she had heard Joan 
Chichester do when her people came down at 
Mid-term. Of course, in old days it would have 
been unheard-of cheek for any member of the 
Lower School, except for Gabrielle, who break- 
fasted with Miss Conyngham when school mat- 
ters needed attention, and could say, “I say, 
Ingrid, oughtn’t we . . 

It was that “we” which was so wonderful, 
really; much more so than breakfasting with 
the Head! 

Still, for all she was a mere Remover II, B 
girl, Ingrid had been most uncommonly gracious 


2t8 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


since the flood; Joey thought that one might 
perhaps risk an introduction, and thanked Cousin 
Greta warmly. 

Cousin Greta patted her hand. 4 And I hope 
you will have a little welcome to spare for your 
old cousin too, my dear ; for I want to come too, 
and to bring Gracie as well as John.” 

“Oh, are you coming? How topping!” Joey 
cried, and the remark was quite truthful as far 
as Cousin Greta and John were concerned, 
though Joey wasn’t quite sure how she felt about 
Gracie. And then Cousin Greta said something 
so astounding that it took her breath away. 

“Joey, I want you to be kind to Gracie and 
show her round the school, because — she is com- 
ing to Redlands as a weekly boarder next term.” 

“What?” Joey had jerked out, forgetting 
manners. Gracie at Redlands, being talked to 
candidly by people like Noreen and Syb and 
Barbara! It was hard to picture. 

“Yes, she is coming,” Cousin Greta repeated, 
with a smile. “Her father and I both think 
that Redlands will be good for Gracie. You 
are not such a bad specimen of a Redlands girl, 
you know.” 

“You should see Ingrid — wish she weren’t 
leaving,” Joey told her, with conviction; “and 
Noreen and Gabrielle. Now they are toppers.” 

Lady Greta smiled, and said she would take 


THE GREAT ELECTION 279 


Joey’s word for it; but Joey must bring any 
of her special friends that she liked with her 
to Mote, subject, of course, to Miss Conyng- 
ham’s permission. Altogether life had been ex- 
traordinarily pleasant during the last six weeks. 

Jean Corvette was to go back to the home 
which was not any longer under the German 
heel. Joey’s faith in Colonel Sturt’s power “to 
put it right” for the poor fellow had been justi- 
fied. She never knew what Colonel Sturt said 
to the police and the War Office, or they to 
him; but the fact remained that Jean’s unwill- 
ing share in the Professor’s plots and plans was 
all condoned, and he was to go back to Alsace 
with Mademoiselle de Lavernais at the end of 
the term. 

Mademoiselle’s departure was an open secret 
by the time that was settled, and most of the 
girls were sorry, in spite of their not infrequent 
grumbles at her strictness. It was Joey who 
suggested to Gabrielle the idea of a farewell of- 
fering from the Lower School, but the whole 
of the Lower School jumped at it, and also at 
Joey’s further plan of learning the “Marseillaise” 
properly in French, so that “Maddy” should 
realise the alliance between France and Eng- 
land was a reality even where schoolgirls were 
concerned. All Remove II. B contributed a 
shilling per girl — not bad when the end of the 


280 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


term and Christmas were near — the junior forms 
sixpence, and the kindergarten babies three- 
pence. The result was a highly respectable sum, 
which was entrusted to the hands of Gabrielle, 
who went to Lincoln with Miss Craigie and 
bought a beautiful leather dispatch case, fitted 
with every luxury. And Clare, shuddering oc- 
casionally, but very valiant on the whole, 
drummed the difficult tune and time of the ' ‘Mar- 
seillaise” into the most unmusical members of 
the Lower School; it being a point of honour 
that everyone should sing. 

The presentation to Maddy was to take place 
after voting; Miss Craigie, taken into confidence, 
had promised to arrange that Maddy should 
be in the kindergarten playroom, even if she had 
to drag her there, directly the election was over. 
The “counting” only concerned the retiring of- 
ficers, Ingrid and Gabrielle, out of all the girls, 
and Gabrielle had delegated to Joey her position 
of spokesman and presenter of the dispatch case 
and list of subscribers. There would be no time 
if they waited till after dinner, she said; the “Old 
Girls” who always came to the Christmas Break- 
ing-Up would surround Maddy, and leave no 
one else a chance to speak to her. 

So the Lower School, with the exception of 
its Head, surged towards the kindergarten play- 
room, as soon as they left Queen’s Hall, Joey 


THE GREAT ELECTION 281 


only pausing to seize the dispatch case, with the 
enormous list of names in all hand-writings tied 
to its handle and fluttering out from it like a 
great black and white banner, and to bring it 
along with her. 

Miss Craigie had kept her promise faithfully. 
“Maddy” was there in the kindergarten with her, 
rusty as to front, and shabby as to dress as 
ever, but somehow younger, Joey thought, than 
she had been on that dreadful day when Joey 
asked her to “amuse” the class with stories of 
the Franco-Prussian War. 

Maddy looked round, surprised, as the Lower 
School poured in, and made a hasty movement 
towards the farther door. Maddy was known 
to loathe a noise! But Miss Craigie held her 
arm firmly and gave her no opportunity of flight. 
The Lower School fell into an immense horse- 
shoe, in treble rows, the little ones in front, then 
the next size, then the tallest. Maddy and Miss 
Craigie were left inside. 

Clare scuffled to the piano, and struck a chord, 
and the Lower School crashed joyfully into the 
“Marseillaise,” all singing at the tops of their 
voices. Maddy bore it, though some of the pro- 
nunciation was, to say the least of it, eccentric, 
and Rhoda Watson, who had about as much 
music in her as a cow, was shrieking into her left 
ear half a tone flat throughout. 


282 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Joey advanced the moment that the music 
stopped. “Please, Mademoiselle, we learnt that 
for you,” she said, “to show we’re your friends, 
if you’ll have us, just as France and England 
are friends, for ever and ever. We’re frightfully 
sorry you’re going away, and will you please ac- 
cept this dispatch case, with a lot of love from 
the Lower School?” 

“That’s the list of us,” she added hastily, as 
the huge paper nearly obscured the dispatch 
case altogether. “I’m sorry it’s such an out- 
size, but you see some of the kids write so large, 
and we all wanted to sign.” 

Mademoiselle de Lavernais took the dispatch 
case from Joey. There was a queer look in her 
tired black eyes for a moment. “Thank you, 
Joey, I would not have the paper smaller,” she 
said. 

She stood quite silent for a moment; then 
began to speak in her level voice that had hardly 
a hint of foreign pronunciation about it. 

“To say thank you is a little thing, to feel 
thanks warmly through you is a bigger. I carry 
that warmth with me for the rest of my life — 
and there was a time when I was not only glad 
because I was going back to my own country, 
but because I was leaving Redlands. Now that 
is not so. I leave Redlands with regret, but I 
shall carry in my heart the memory of it, and of 


THE GREAT ELECTION 288 


you all. And that is something to bring back 
with me to a home from which a little girl, as 
young as Tiddles, was driven more than fifty 
years ago. Now that I am so near going back, 
I dare again allow myself to see the picture of 
the burning chateau, the flames rising behind 
the trees, and my nursery a blackened shell, as 
the front wall fell forward. I see my cot against 
the wall, my doll’s house, black with flaming 
edge . . . myself crying pitifully, but at the 
same time thankful to my father who permitted 
me to bury my cherished dolls in the hole he 
had dug to preserve our heirlooms from the 
conquering German. My father himself fired 
the chateau that no German should pollute it, 
and went out homeless into the wide world, de- 
serting all, sooner than live under German rule. 
I kissed my little hands to my beloved dolls, 
down in the garden mould, whispering, with the 
faith of childhood, that I would soon come back 
and dig them up again. And after one-and-fifty 
years I keep that promise. I go back alone, the 
last of all my family, to the home of my child- 
hood; but I shall not be lonely in that I take 
with me the love of the Lower School.” 

After that came dinner, a hasty and somewhat 
noisy affair, when mistresses made no particular 


284 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


effort to keep order, and no one talked of any- 
thing but the Election. 

Ingrid and Gabrielle came in rather late ; 
Joey tried to catch Gabrielle’s eye and show 
her there was room to squeeze in between her- 
self and Noreen; but Gabrielle, looking flushed 
and excited, only smiled at her in answer to the 
invitation, and sat down at the far end of the 
table. And after dinner there was the scramble 
to dress, to the tune of rumbling wheels and 
snorting cars, as the old girls and the more or- 
dinary visitors poured up in an unending stream. 

Then the prize-giving — one side of the Queen’s 
Hall entirely filled with excited girls in best 
frocks, the other with visitors of all ages; old 
girls conspicuous among them by their proprie- 
tary air. 

The school list read, as it would stand with 
the beginning of the new term, going from the 
babies in the kindergarten up to the high and 
mighty Sixth. Noreen and Joey in Remove II. 
A. Gabrielle in the Upper School, the youngest 
girl there by a whole year. Barbara heading 
Remove II. B. Syb second. The prospects for 
the next term were great indeed, with the junior 
hockey team colours for Joey and Noreen, to 
add to all the rest. 

Then the prize-giving — an armful to Gabrielle, 


THE GREAT ELECTION 285 


but Remove II. B Maths, for Joey, and composi- 
tion to Noreen. They grudged nobody else any- 
thing in the world after that, and Joey wanted 
nothing but that her people should be there. 
Cousin Greta had ’phoned that Mums had busi- 
ness in town last night, and would not come to 
Mote till to-day; but Joey had never thought 
she would be late for the prize-giving. Still she 
couldn’t see the door from where she sat; Mums 
and Cousin Greta and John and Gracie might 
be standing among the group there who had 
come in late, and would not disturb the per- 
formance by moving about to find seats. 

Prize-giving on Old Girls’ Day always con- 
cluded with the singing of Newbolt’s stirring 
verses, “The Best School of All,” sung only 
by collegers, past and present, standing. After 
that would come the great announcement — the 
result of the Election for the coming year. 

As the first bars were played there was a stir 
and a movement among the audience. In little 
groups — in single state — people were standing 
up. The years had rolled away from these ; they 
were Redlanders again each one of them, from 
shy Jean Hyde, who had only left last term, to 
old Lady Rownham, quite blind and bent with 
rheumatism, but who would never dream of for- 
getting that she had been a Redlands girl seventy 
years ago. 


286 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


Visitors sat to listen to the great school song; 
old girls stood to sing with the school, and for 
five blissful minutes forgot everything — except 
that they were back at Redlands, and Redlands’ 
was theirs, and they were Redlands’ still. 

Newbolt’s splendid words rang out to their 
slow, grave marching tune. 

“It’s good to see the school we knew. 

The land of youth and dream, 

To greet again the rule we knew 
Before we took the stream. 

Though long we’ve missed the sight of her 
Our hearts may not forget, 

We’ve lost the old delight of her. 

We’ll keep her honour yet.” 

Girls and old girls had got into their swing 
by now; the great hall rang! 

“To speak of Fame a venture is. 

There’s little here may bide. 

But we may face the centuries. 

And dare the deepening tide. 

For though the dust that’s part of us 
To dust again be gone. 

Yet here shall beat the heart of us. 

The school we handed on. 

We’ll honour yet the school we knew, 

The best school of all, 

We’ll honour yet the rule we knew. 

Till the last bell call. 


THE GREAT ELECTION 287 


For working-days and holidays, 

And glad or melancholy days. 

They were great days and jolly days. 

At the best school of all.” 

Lady Rownham was singing with all her 
might, and a pathetic effort to hold her slight 
stooping shoulders back; she had been Vicereine 
of India forty years ago, but, excepting for that 
time, there had been few years in which she had 
missed coming to the Old Girls’ Day — and no 
time when she had not been at Redlands in spirit. 
They had sung rather cramped mid-Victorian 
words as the school song for many of those 
yearly festivals that she had known; but in these 
very “Old Girls” had beat the heart of the school 
none the less, though that earlier poet had lacked 
the greatness of expression. 

The last line swung out with triumphant fer- 
vour; the old girls sat down. Miss Conyngham 
stood forward ; on her right were the two retiring 
officers, Ingrid and Gabrielle, one very tall, the 
other small and childish looking. Amid an abso- 
lute silence from the assembled visitors Miss 
Conyngham shook hands with each girl in turn. 
“We all thank you for what you have done for 
the school throughout the year,” she said. 

At Redlands it was always the youngest girl 
at the school who called the cheers. A huge 
Sixth Former had Tiddles ready beside the plat- 


288 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


form and hoisted her on to it at the right 
moment. The mite faced the audience unblink- 
ingly, “Tree cheers for Ingrid Latimer! Tree 
cheers for Gabrielle Arden!” she said in her tiny 
distinct voice. It did not reach half the length 
of the hall, but everyone who had been at a 
“Redlands speecher” knew what was meant by 
the appearance on the platfrm of the youngest 
girl, and the cheers rang out with a will. Ingrid 
and Gabrielle acknowledged them with a grave 
bow, and then turned and walked off the plat- 
form and down to their respective places in the 
hall, leaving only the youngest girl in the school 
to stand by Miss Conyngham’s side. 

A sealed envelope lay before the Head upon 
the table. She took it up in her long slim fin- 
gers. 

“I have now to announce the result of the Elec- 
tion,” she said, speaking slowly and clearly, so 
that her voice reached every corner of the great 
hall. “I do not need to remind our old girls 
what that election means to Redlands; it is the 
visible expression of perfect trust; it means that 
in the girl chosen to govern the Upper or the 
Lower School the other girls feel they have some- 
one in whose hands can be safely placed the 
honour of the school. It is a great trust and a 
great privilege: the heads of the Upper and 
Lower School are my right hand, and in their 


THE GREAT ELECTION 289 


choice I have never found the school’s judgment 
in fault. The great Election took place this 
morning; the results were checked by the retir- 
ing officers and two mistresses, and the success- 
ful names handed to me in this envelope, which 
I now propose to unseal before you all.” 

She ripped it open and spread out the paper 
it contained. 

A pin could have been heard to drop as she 
gave out the result of the Election. 

“Head of the Upper School — Joan Chichester. 
Head of the Lower School — Jocelyn Graham ” 

Joey sitting fizzling with excitement between 
Noreen and Barbara nearly fell off her form in 
sheer unbelieving amazement. 

“What! it’s not me that’s it,” she whispered 
frantically, with a lack of grammar that would 
have horrified Mr. Craigie away at Calgarloch. 
Noreen gave her a friendly push. “You’re not 
deaf are you, you juggins. Of course it’s you. 
I thought it might be and I’m jolly glad. I 
voted for you anyway, and so did Syb and Bar- 
bara.” 

Joey feverishly squeezed a hand of both her 
neighbours. “You are dears!” she said un- 
steadily. 

Ingrid looked round, the Head of the Upper 
School still, for all she had resigned her digni- 
ties. “No talking there!” 


290 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


“The newly elected officers will come on to 
the platform,” said Miss Conyngham. 

Joey arrived on the platform, still feeling 
rather giddy, and as though she must be some- 
one else, and Miss Conyngham pinned to her 
frock the little gold star brooch that was her 
badge of office, and then shook hands. 

“I congratulate you, Jocelyn. I think the 
honour is well earned; I know it will be treated 
faithfully.” 

She turned from Joey to Joan Chichester, 
and invested her. Joey ought to have been 
standing at attention by that enormous and dis- 
tinguished personage, whom it was so astound- 
ing to think about as the colleague to whom in 
the future one would say “we.” But she was 
not doing what she ought. From the platform 
she could see the group by the door, and wh$t 
she saw put everything else out of her head for 
the minute — even this wonderful new dignity. 

Cousin Greta was there, with Colonel Sturt 
and Gracie, the latter looking far less superior; 
and John, jolly and cheery as ever, and leaning 
on one crutch only instead of two. And beside 
them Mums, and a tall khaki figure, worn and 
thin and hollow-eyed; but unmistakable — 
Father! 

Their eyes met; it was only by a supreme ef- 


THE GREAT ELECTION 291 


fort that Joey forced herself to stand still on 
the platform and listen to the wonderful things 
that Miss Conyngham was saying about her. 

“To Collegers past and present the election 
of the Heads of the Upper and Lower School 
is of supreme importance,” she said. “The 
splendid record of Joan Chichester is well known 
to us all; we have no doubt as to her fitness for 
the honour accorded her by Redlands. Jocelyn 
Graham is a new girl this term, and never before 
in the history of Redlands has this honour been 
conferred on a new girl. I am glad that Red- 
lands has broken its tradition in that respect. 
A great opportunity came to Jocelyn Graham 
six weeks ago — and she showed herself able to 
meet it. We are proud of her at Redlands, and 
believe that in her lives the spirit that has al- 
ways actuated the Heads of the Upper and 
Lower School — the spirit which has set our 
school where it is : a name to be honoured where- 
ever in the world a Redlands girl is found. 

The big Sixth Former did not need to touch 
little Tiddles on this occasion; she was ready. 

“Tree cheers for the new Heads of the Upper 
and Lower School !” 

They finished at last, though Noreen, the ex- 
perienced, declared that there never had been 
such cheering at Redlands, and Joey could dive 


292 HEAD OF THE LOWER SCHOOL 


through the throng, moving teawards, to her 
people. 

Father had come to town last night, and 
Mums, to whom the wonderful news that Jean 
Corvette’s Major Graham was the right one, 
had been wired as soon as it was a certainty, 
and who had met him there. They hadn’t wired to 
Joey, because Mums, who knew what was going 
to happen on that last day, thought the excite- 
ment would be upsetting, and she had better 
know nothing till Father was there. 

“Though it was a shame, when it all came 
about through you, Joey,” Mums said. 

“Isn’t it funny?” Joey remarked blissfully. 
“It’s like the house that Jack built — all going 
back and back. If I hadn’t wanted the scholar- 
ship I wouldn’t have come to Redlands, and 
if Miss Craigie hadn’t had ‘flu,’ I should have 
travelled with her, and Noreen wouldn’t have 
ragged me about the Lab, and I shouldn’t 
have found out about the violet handkerchief, 
and if Gracie had been like she is now, John 
wouldn’t have taught me signalling, and I 
shouldn’t have come back alone, and if Noreen 
and Gabrielle hadn’t been such bricks and waited 
for me at the reservoir . . . ” 

“Yes,” interrupted Father, “and if my eldest 
daughter hadn’t been out to keep her promise 


THE GREAT ELECTION 293 


like an Englishman and take care of Mums, 
I suppose she wouldn’t have fagged for the 
scholarship, and then there would have been no 
beginning, middle, — or very glorious end.” 



A Bookful of Girls 

By 

Anna Fuller 

With 6 Illustrations . I Volume. 12° 

Six stories by the clever author of Pratt Por * 
traits — Blythe Halliday's Voyage — Artful Madge 
— The Ideas of Polly — Nannie f s Theatre Party — 
Olivia's Sun* dial — Bagging a Grandfather, 

One of the pleasantest things about these 
girls of Miss Fuller’s — and very pleasant girls 
they are — is that each one is too intent upon 
what she is about to give much thought to her- 
self. Indeed the single-heartedness with which 
Madge, for instance, pursues her art, and Di 
her grandfather, is so refreshing that the reader, 
young or old, feels a sense of personal elation in 
the happy outcome. 


G. P. Putnam’s Sons 

New York London 



A 

College Girl 

By 

Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey 

Author of “ Betty Trevor,” etc. 

12°, Illustrated 

The sweet and forceful story 
of the life of Darsie Garnett 
from the time she is fifteen, 
until she blossoms out, a 
full-fledged graduate of 
Newnham College. 


G. P. Putnam’s Sons 

New York 


London 



Betty Trevor 

By 

Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey 

Author of “ A College Girl, ,, “ An Unknown Lover,” 

“ Lady Cassandra,” etc. 

12 °. Seven Illustrations 

“Betty Trevor is as sweetas two peaches 
and as wholesome as perfect wheat . . . 
a romance from first to last delightfully 
told. Mrs. Vaizey is no novice in love, 
but never has she written a love story 
more vivid with that quality that endears 
it to both young and old. ” 

Philadelphia Record, 

G. P. Putnam’s Sons 

New York London 





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